


The Praxian Solution

by wicked3659



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Breeding, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 59,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/pseuds/wicked3659
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is sent on an undercover mission to Praxus and finds himself caught up in an intricate spider web of politics, slavery and exploitation of the worst kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Undercover

Jazz raised an optic ridge at the mission brief. This just didn't seem right.

"You have a question, Jazz?"

The visored mech looked up at Quickshot, his superior and he shrugged. "How did you know?"

"Please," the other mech scoffed. "We've worked together for vorns and you think I still can't tell when you have a question? You get this look," he smirked when Jazz canted his helm quizzically. "Yeah just like that. So out with it."

"Well, boss, you're sending me to investigate sparkling birth rates. Last time I checked having a sparkling wasn't a crime."

Quickshot nodded in understanding. "I totally get where you're coming from and I asked Prime the same thing. Higher ups started to get suspicious a while back. Most sparklings in the big cities come from Vector Sigma as you know and there are  restrictions due to resources and your situation but in Praxus births have skyrocketed. Look at these numbers."

Jazz accepted the second datapad and his visor brightened. "This is almost 5 sparklings for every individual."

Quickshot nodded. "You see why they're suspicious?"

Humming Jazz nodded and pressed his mouth into a grim line. "I'm not investigating the rate of sparklings per se more how and why the rate is so high."

"You got it," Quickshot grinned. "You're to collect evidence, bring it back so the council and Prime can decide what to do, if anything, who knows Praxians might just be really busy in the berth."

Jazz didn't share his superior's laughter. The sheer number of sparklings per individual within the time frame were cause for concern. Having that many sparklings so close together was an immense strain on the spark.

"If at all possible grab someone who knows what's happening, get a statement and get out."

"Alright. Seems like an easy play."

"Jazz, you're being sent there under Prime's banner as a high standing member of his political team under the guise of opening trade negotiations with Praxus, so whatever you do, don't bring attention to yourself, don't--"

"--Yeah I know the drill. Don't cause trouble. Don't get involved. In and out. You can count on me," Jazz grinned. "When do I leave?"

"Next cycle. Be careful Jazz, Praxians are very private. You're not the first agent sent to that city. Those winged grounders get creative with mechs who ask too many questions," Quickshot warned solemnly.

"Not the first huh?" Jazz mused. "The others get caught, interrogated?"

Quickshot shook his helm. "The one that came back wouldn't say. Was never really herself. Resigned cycles after returning. The others... never came back. Went off the grid. Before my post here. Listed as missing."

Jazz stilled at that. This mission just became a lot more sinister. "How many?"

"You're the fourth. We're giving you a more public profile so they'll be less inclined to disappear you," Quickshot smiled at Jazz. "Stay in touch."

"In and out. Simple enough." Jazz saluted lazily on his way out and left the office, his processor already mulling over the city of Praxus, legendary for its art and beautiful crystal gardens. He had to wonder what secrets were hidden beneath its jewel like surface.

****

The journey to Praxus was long as it was boring. The vast rust sea and uninhabitable silica dunes were interesting to look at from a novelty perspective but the blue tinged light from Cybertron's ancient blue giant star, reflecting from the planet's surface made Jazz's processor ache after a short while.

He’d recharged a little and read his book file a little. The trip between Iacon and Praxus took about a cycle on a standard transport. He hadn’t taken the express shuttle because he needed some time to get his story straight and get himself ready for the role. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived but Quickshot had informed him they were expecting him and arrangements were underway for his arrival.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Jazz peered out of the transport and his sharp optics focused on the glittering lights of crystal spires in the distance. Praxus was the city of sparkling stories. Stories of nobles and royalty, adventure, mystery and magic. Jazz knew its history but he had never been there himself. Despite the nature of his assignment he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited at the prospect of getting to explore one of the oldest and most secretive cities on Cybertron. Drawing closer, Jazz’s optics were transfixed by the sheer natural beauty of the place. “Say what you want about Praxians, but they sure know their way around a crystal,” he murmured to himself in awe at the sight.

The transport slowed as it entered the city gates. Jazz drank in the visual. Taking it all in, committing it to memory. At this time of the cycle, Iacon would be fairly subdued but Praxus was alive and vibrant. His keen audio picked up music and chatter of mechs going about their business and he smiled. A healthy night life was something Jazz could appreciate in a city.

When his transport finally stopped, Jazz stepped out onto a platform and was greeted by a teal coloured Praxian, flanked by two stern looking enforcers. “Ambassador Meister, it’s a pleasure,” the teal mech placed his thumbs to the centre of his forehelm and bowed ever so slightly, his doorwings giving a subtle flutter.

“Pleasure is mine… uhm…?”

“Sorry,” the mech smiled warmly. “I am Vim. I have been assigned as your aide during your visit here in Praxus. I will tend any needs you require.”

Jazz nodded and returned the smile. “Right now, I just need a wash rack and a berth. It’s been a long trip.”

“Of course. It was expected as much. Please this way,” the mech held out his hand gesturing for Jazz to walk with him.

Falling into step easily, Jazz kept his field tight but not too tight as the exuberant mech started telling him all about the sights that he should try to see while in Praxus. The mech’s field was practically vibrating with barely contained enthusiasm, it was exhausting, even for Jazz who prided himself as a mech who sought out the excitement and fun in pretty much most things.

“There will be a meeting next cycle with the delegates to open trade negotiations,” Vim explained. “I will fetch you and we shall use the private transport that has been provided for you.”

“Is it okay, if I go and explore?” Jazz asked casually.

Vim’s doorwings flicked just once. “Given your status, Ambassador, we would much prefer you to stay with myself or an appointed guide. Should you wish to explore at any point, please let me know and if I am unavailable, a guide will be provided for you.”

“Thank you,” Jazz nodded, the faint ripple through the other mech’s field did not escape Jazz’s notice but he said nothing. It was a standard procedure to ensure the safety of political and legal delegates while visiting a foreign city. It would make his investigation a little trickier but Jazz was nothing if not creative when it came to giving others the slip.

Vim stopped and unlocked a door. The place was a grand hotel, close to the Praxian senate and city centre. Stepping inside his room, Jazz whistled softly. “I hope it is to your liking though I am sure it is nothing by Iaconian standards.”

“It’s very nice,” Jazz replied genuinely, moving over to the window to rake his optics over the view overlooking the city. “This will do just fine.”

Vim bowed again with a broad smile. “I will return in the early cycle, Ambassador Meister, recharge well and welcome to Praxus.”

****

The senate of Praxus was in one of the most ornate looking buildings, Jazz had ever seen. The Grand Palace of Iacon where Prime was located could not rival its splendour. The Towers of the nobles were on a par but still, it had Jazz in awe. Upon seeing his guest so enthralled by the place, Vim had proceeded to eagerly explain the history of the building and of many in the city centre. The inside of the building was just as intricate as the outside and Jazz did not speak for a few long kliks as he took it all in.

“Ambassador Meister,” Vim’s voice drew Jazz’s attention. “Please wait here with the enforcer, I will see if the delegates are ready for you.”

Jazz nodded as the mech bowed and hurried away. He glanced at the enforcer standing to the side and gave him a smile of acknowledgement. It was not returned and the mech regarded him coolly, silently. The enforcers of Praxus were nothing like those in Iacon, Jazz mused to himself. He wondered how they did their job properly if they were this unapproachable with everyone.

Vim returned and waved at Jazz to follow him. He led Jazz up some stairs to a set of large metal doors. They opened automatically and Jazz stepped inside the room. He was greeted by the Praxian senate who all stood and bowed deeply. Jazz wasn’t sure of the custom for guests so he returned the greeting with an Iaconian one and placed his hand over his spark and bowed only his helm.

“Ambassador Meister, welcome to Praxus, please have a seat we have much to discuss, it has been some time since we had an invitation to open trade negotiations with Iacon,” an older mech spoke graciously, gesturing to the seat at the centre of the large oval table. He continued when Jazz took his place. “I am Luminary Phoebus, I am the Presider over the city of Praxus and the head of the senate.”

“Thank you Luminary Phoebus, I am Ambassador Meister, Dignitary to Optimus Prime and advisor to the council of Cybertron. It is a pleasure to be here, thank you for accepting our invitation. One which I might add has been long over due.”

Phoebus smiled widely at Jazz and began introducing his subordinates one by one. Jazz took note of each name and position, filing it away for future reference. He paid special attention to the femme in charge of citizen registration and mech responsible for ensuring the city had enough resources for each of its citizens. If anyone would have an idea about high sparkling rates, it would be those two.

Jazz presented his proposal, written by Prime himself when the introductions were over and negotiations got underway. Prime as part of the negotiations had also requested an audit of the city’s finances and dealings with other city states. The Praxians seemed to quibble over this but Jazz remained firm, though he suggested some wriggle room could probably be afforded in order to give the Praxians time to prepare the relevant documents. This would also allow him to explore while they prepared.

The cycle was a long one and finally the negotiations drew to a close. Phoebus rounded the table to speak with Jazz personally. “You have a sharp processor, Ambassador, and I thank you for the opportunity to organise our financial documents for your perusal at a later date. To greet you properly as per Praxian custom and to thank you for your consideration, the delegates have suggested a function later tonight in the Grand Hall. You would honour us if you would attend as our guest of honour.”

Jazz smirked faintly. “Hope you’re not trying to sweeten me up, Luminary Phoebus,” he replied, letting the amusement show in his tone.

Phoebus’ doorwings twitched before a smile broke over his face. “I would not dream of it Ambassador,” he laughed a little as he leaned closer. “Though a little sweetening never hurt a mech.”

Jazz chuckled and nodded. “I like the way you think. Perhaps we can discuss it this evening over Praxian high grade. I’ve heard it’s the best there is.”

Phoebus seemed delighted as did his delegates. “It is settled then. Vim will return you to your hotel to prepare and he will return for you this evening. I look forward to speaking with you under a less formal setting, Ambassador Meister.”

“You and me both,” Jazz smiled. He gave the Praxian senate a quick bow before exiting with Vim, leaving Phoebus staring after him.

“Do you think he can be persuaded?” the femme, Dignitary Lightchase, murmured into Phoebus’ audio.

“We shall see, Lightchase,” Phoebus replied somberly.

“But the others… he is too visible to dispose of.”

Phoebus flicked out his wings with irritation. “I am aware of the risks, Lightchase.”

“Every mech can be persuaded,” an even voice spoke up, drawing the others’ attentions. “It is simply a matter of finding his price.”

Phoebus smirked at that. “Right you are, Notable Scintilla. I trust that you are up to the task?”

The mech who had been introduced to Jazz as the one responsible for Praxus’ finances, simply smiled in response.

 


	2. The Talk

The party - the only word Jazz would use to describe it - was already in full swing by the time he arrived. Vim immediately procured him a drink and guided him to where Phoebus and some of his delegates were quietly chatting.

They appeared much more relaxed than they had in the meeting but Jazz still noted how tightly their energy fields were held and how some immediately excused themselves when he arrived. “Nice party,” he declared, smiling at Phoebus.

The older mech stood and greeted Jazz formally before leading him around to each of his delegates. Phoebus left Jazz with a femme who proceeded to show Jazz a good time. He quickly learned that she was the one responsible for registering all the sparklings, and while deep in conversation another mech joined them.

“Meister, I would like you to meet Notable Scintilla, the director of Praxus’ finances, you will undoubtedly be working with him a great deal during your audit.”

Jazz grinned. “That I will. It’s a pleasure, Scintilla.” He looked back at the femme with a smirk. “So I have a question and it’s more based on a rumour than anything.”

Lightchase smiled invitingly. “I’m all audio.”

“What’s the deal with all the sparklings? I mean your population is growing exponentially aren’t you afraid you’re going to run out of resources at some point?” He looked between Scintilla and Lightchase who seemed unperturbed by this knowledge.

“It is managed efficiently. Every few vorns we have a surge in sparkings and Scintilla manages the resources effectively. It maintains our population and ensures that every family gets to raise at least one sparkling. This is especially important for those who cannot spark.” Lightchase explained demurely.

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. “So you have a sparking program in place?”

Scintilla nodded. “Quite. In order to control Praxus’ resources effectively a sparking program is essential in maintaining the status quo. A surge simply means that we are in a time of abundance. I wouldn’t concern yourself, Meister, we have everything under control.”

“Yes, even visiting dignitaries get to partake in our program and contribute to our productivity and success as an independent city state,” Lightchase pointed out, idly swirling her cube.

“You wouldn’t be interested would you, Meister?” Scintilla asked with a smirk of his own.

“Interested?”

“Consider it part of the Praxian welcome formality. Sparking is not essential but we like to give incentives to our most favourite visitors and if sparking does happen then everyone benefits.”

Jazz was both disturbed and interested. “Benefits, how?”

Lightchase laughed brightly as though he’d just asked the silliest question. “If you do manage to spark then you would gain automatic citizenship of Praxus with the freedom to take a mate and settle here, tax free. For life.”

Jazz’s optics brightened at that. “All for a sparkling?”

Scintilla shrugged, his wings flicking out. “It is a system that has worked well for thousands of vorns. We are understandably secretive due to the narrow minded views of other leaders of the past. I’m sure you can understand?”

Nodding and humming non-committally in agreement, Jazz patted the mech’s arm. “Let me think on it, I’ll let you know?”

“It’ll be worth it,” Lightchase added as though sharing a delightful secret. “They are very good.”

“Who?”

“The chosen of course,” she replied. “Those who dedicate their lives to ensuring Praxus’ future.”

Jazz smiled. “Sounds noble,” he grinned at Scintilla. “Don’t think this gets you out of an audit though,” he laughed cheerfully, letting his field fill with amusement.

Scintilla laughed loudly, joined by Lightchase. “Of course not, Ambassador, this is not a bribe, merely an invitation. One we only extend to the best.”

“I’m interested, but let’s get the work done first. Then I can indulge as much as I like right?”

“What a splendid idea,” Lightchase replied gleefully.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and we have an early start next cycle.” Jazz gave them the Iaconian greeting and bowed out of the conversation, suppressing the shudder that ran down his spinal column. It was probably one of the more disturbing conversations that he had had. Nodding to his guide as Vim joined him and led him back to the transport, he ignored the Praxian who chatted at him eagerly. Jazz was silent, already planning how he was going to obtain evidence and expose whatever it was the Praxians were doing, before all the evidence conveniently disappeared. Or he did.

Scintilla watched him leave and subtly grabbed Lightchase’s arm tightly. “You registered the new sparklings?”

“It’s my job,” she hissed back, tugging her arm free. “They have to be registered in order for us to obtain and trade with our neighbours for resources. Energon production is down, crystal growth is down, what are you going to do? Throw credits at them? We need resources and the other cities won’t trade without reason. We have to show need.”

Scintilla growled, his doorwings stiffening on his back. “You have made Iacon suspicious.”

“Let them be suspicious,” she threw back at him. “By the time they figure it out or try to stop us, he will already have sufficient numbers.”

Surprised at that, Scintilla regarded Lightchase appraisingly. “How close to the goal are we?”

“Three quarters of his demand are fulfilled, half of which are already in protoforms and undergoing secondary training,” Lightchase smirked. “By the time Iacon moves, it will be too late to stop him.”

“That was faster than expected,” Scintilla commented, his ire dissipating.

“We have some excellent enforcers,” Lightchase smiled. “Now will you please stop worrying, I have everything under control.”

“Yes… it does appear that you do,” Scintilla smiled back at her subtly. “We should prepare our incentive for our visiting Ambassador then, one more can’t hurt, in the grand scheme of things.”

Lightchase nodded her agreement. “And who knows, he might like it and that would gain us an ally within Iacon.”

****

Jazz had managed to sneak out of his hotel window and had made his way discreetly to the streets below. He had wandered until he had found a place where asking questions wouldn’t create a scene. It was a Praxian bar. His presence had garnered quite a bit of attention. Praxians it turned out, were into strangers and he had more than one mech and femme come over to make conversation with him and buy him a drink. Jazz had made idle chit chat with most and danced with a couple, enjoying their social interactions, while also carrying out his own cultural research and asking leading questions.

Most were too overcharged to give him anything in the way of detailed answers but he had learned that every bonded couple had to apply to become creators and even then getting a sparkling wasn’t guaranteed. Most sparklings were adopted from the state, nobody was allowed to conceive naturally and if they did fines were imposed or the sparkling was removed from the creators’ custody. It seemed like an extreme measure of population control. It didn’t however, appear to be anything sinister, at least not on the surface. Jazz had to wonder where the sparklings came from though.

Upon his return to his hotel room via his window, he contemplated catching some recharge when his door chime went. Frowning, he headed into the living area of his two room suite and waited until the door chimed again, he hoped he hadn’t been seen, that would only cause trouble for him. “I didn’t order anything,” he called out, taking a cautious step towards the door.

“I have been sent as discussed.”

Discussed? Jazz’s frown deepened. “By whom?”

“Delegate Scintilla,” came the disembodied reply. “You may scan me if you are concerned I am a threat but I can assure you I am no more of a threat than the individuals you have been socialising with this late cycle.”

Jazz froze at that and glanced at the window. He could escape, call it quits but his cover would be blown and Praxus would not trust another sent from Iacon. Ignoring his instinct, he unsubspaced an energon blade and held it behind him as he approached the door. He opened it and his visor brightened in surprise. “You’re an enforcer?”

“I am,” the Praxian bowed his helm curtly in greeting.

“You followed me. You here to arrest me?”

The mech quirked an optic ridge at Jazz and flicked his doorwings. “For sneaking out of your hotel room, or for holding a lethal weapon on your person?” he asked blandly.

“Either,” Jazz replied easily.

“I am not. I was sent as discussed.”

“I don’t remember discussing having an enforcer sent to my room. Why are you here?” Jazz asked tersely.

The black and white ducked his helm apologetically. “It is customary to discuss such matters in private.”

Keeping hold of his energon blade, though not hiding it now the mech knew it was there, Jazz stepped back and let him enter. “Mech in my position, has to be cautious, you understand.” It wasn’t really an apology simply a way of keeping up appearances for his persona.

“Completely, Ambassador Meister. You are in no danger,” the enforcer declared. “I have been sent regarding the incentive Scintilla wished to bestow on you, he hopes you are pleased with me.”

“You’re an enforcer,” Jazz started in confusion. “Are you just going to guard me? That doesn’t sound like an incentive to me, it sounds like I’m under suspicion for something.”

“You misunderstand,” the mech replied. “My principle duty is as an enforcer yes but I am also a chosen and I am here to provide a service for however long your stay in Praxus is for.”

“Say what again?”

“You were curious as to the program Delegate Scintilla mentioned to you, regarding sparklings and what was on offer if you contributed, were you not?”

“Yeah…?”

“I am here to accept your contribution,” the enforcer raised his doorwings slightly. “Would you prefer here or the berth?”

Jazz just stared at the mech, bewildered. “Contribute… you mean… create a… sparkling?!” he asked finally with complete disbelief.

The Praxian seemed confused. “What else would I mean?”

“Credits, support, I don’t know!” Jazz exclaimed. “I’m not going to just merge sparks with you. What the frag is this?”

It was the enforcer’s turn to look shocked and his doorwings twitched with what Jazz could only describe as apprehension. “It is customary... if you have concerns about the quality of any resulting new spark, I can assure you that my registry grading is in the top five percent-"

Jazz balked at that. "Top five- I don't- You know what?" he frowned at the black and white. “I think you should leave, I don’t know why you’re lowering yourself to this… but it’s wrong. You’re an enforcer not a breeder!”

“It is considered an honour… I cannot…” the enforcer replied softly, glancing with concern at the main exit and his voice dropped to a whisper. “If you refuse without even attempting, I will be accused of not carrying out my duty… I will be punished…”

Jazz stared at him, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “They hurt you?” he demanded.

The enforcer stiffened and averted his optics from Jazz’s piercing gaze. “Only in cases of failure or lack of performance.”

“So they hurt you,” rubbing his faceplates, Jazz swore softly. Things just got more complicated. Glancing at the mech he sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Prowl,” the Praxian bowed his helm politely once more.

“Prowl…” Jazz started softly. “Just how many sparklings have you had?”

The light dimmed a fraction in Prowl’s optics and he shook his helm. “That is not relevant,” he replied, his voice catching despite himself.

“How many?” Jazz demanded insistently.

Holding Jazz’s gaze for the longest time, Prowl finally relented, his doorwings drooping. “Three...”

“Primus,” Jazz breathed, his spark twisting at the implications. “Have you seen them? Do they stay with you?” he asked suddenly, quickly.

Prowl straightened and seemed to regain his composure. “It is customary for new sparks to be taken into the nurseries and when they are in their first upgrades they are trained to either fit into a specific field within Praxus that requires more people or to become enforcers and creators like myself.”

Jazz sat down heavily in a nearby chair. “That is slag. They take your sparklings? You do know that is wrong, right?” he looked up at Prowl whose face had become pinched with worry and untold anguish that he was desperately trying to hide.

“It is tradition, an honour,” he bit out.

From the tension in Prowl’s frame as he answered, Jazz would put all his credits on it being anything but an honour. “Lying to me isn’t going to get you in my berth any faster, mech,” Jazz stated softly, picking up the desperately anxious shift in Prowl’s energy field. “How about you sit down. I’ve got a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”


	3. The Plan Changes

“Delegate Scintilla, it appears I owe you a thank you,” Jazz strode into the meeting room with a knowing smirk.

“Oh? You have me at a loss, Ambassador Meister,” Scintilla replied demurely.

Jazz chuckled and waved a finger at the delegate. “Your incentive arrived at my hotel room.”

Scintilla merely smirked. “Everything was to your liking, I hope?”

“It was. He is in fact still in my room,” he leaned in and added a little more quietly as other Praxian delegates began to enter the room.

“Is that so, Lightchase will not be pleased he has missed his check in.”

“Not to worry, I shall clear it with her, when we tour the sparkling facilities,” Jazz added casually, picking up a cube of energon. “For I plan to have him keep me company for the entire duration of my stay.”

“I have heard he is the best,” Scintilla replied before freezing and pinning Jazz with a questioning gaze. “Tour, Ambassador?”

“Hm,” Jazz smiled sweetly about his cube. “Surely you don’t expect me to contribute and not know where my contribution is going?”

Scintilla’s doorwings flicked just once and he inclined his helm politely. “Of course not, Ambassador. I shall contact Lightchase and see that it is arranged.”

“You do that,” Jazz held up his cube with a smile. “This is good. Shall we get started with my audit?” he gestured to the table, enjoying the apprehension now rippling subtly through Scintilla’s energy field.

“As you wish, Ambassador,” Scintilla declared taking his seat, looking decidedly more ruffled than he had mere kliks ago. Much to Jazz’s smug satisfaction. He was just getting started.

****

Lightchase had been flustered when they arrived but had impassively managed to maintain an outward calm as she showed Jazz around the facilities.

The nurseries for the new sparks were first and Jazz remained stoic as Lightchase explained the frame selection process. Each sparkling was analysed and categorised. It was a loveless process. Moving onto the next area, Jazz smiled a little as he watched slightly older sparklings play fighting. "Feisty bitlets," he commented, his gaze landing on two sparklings brawling on a mat.

"Hm they are the warrior class, fighting is encouraged," Lightchase stated.

"They're barely ten vorns old," Jazz frowned a little. The two sparklings he was watching stopped and glared at them and Jazz' spark skipped a pulse. He compared their faces with the image capture, Prowl had provided and hummed thoughtfully. They were his sparklings alright.

"Ambassador?"

"Hm? Coming," Jazz took another image capture of the watching sparklings and gave them a subtle wink of his visor as he caught up with Lightchase. The sparklings scowled and shared a confused glance before resuming their fight.

"What's that?" Jazz asked wandering over to a room separated from the others.

"Oh this is just where sparklings who do not integrate well into their frames or have issues are isolated and either rehabilitated or reprocessed."

Lightchase’s clinical description had Jazz shivering. Then he spotted a tiny sparkling curled up away from the others. Frowning Jazz opened the door and stepped inside before Lightchase could even open her mouth in protest.

"Hey there little one," Jazz crouched down and spoke softly to the clearly terrified sparkling. "My name is, Meister, do you have a name?"

The sparkling stared with wide optics at him before blurting out a rapid sequence of kliks and whistles. His intakes hiccupped and he covered his mouth in panic.

"Hey hey its alright," Jazz tried to soothe him. "Would you like a rust stick?" He procured one from his subspace and held it out.

Curious the sparkling canted his helm as he tentatively unfurled and reached for the candy. Quickly he grabbed it and shuffled away from Jazz. He inspected the rust stick intently with a series of fascinated whistles.

"This one refuses to speak and suffers from intense carrier separation anxiety, he is to be reprocessed," Lightchase commented.

Jazz scowled. "Bit extreme. He's just frightened. Why not let him be with his carrier?"

Lightchase shook her helm. "Carriers fulfil their duty, they are not permitted to remain with the sparkling and so are not encouraged to bond with the sparkling. It would be cruel."

"And this isn't?" Jazz chuckled when the sparkling licked the rust stick, clicked excitedly and began to suck it with a pleased smile. "There you go, not so bad is it? I'm Meister." Jazz smiled warmly at the sparkling.

The grey sparkling stopped suckling his rust stick long enough to whisper the name 'Bluestreak' before popping it back in his mouth eagerly.

Jazz's visor brightened. It was the name Prowl had given him of his third and youngest sparkling. He had been taken from him immediately following separation and he hadn't even seen him in a frame.

"Remarkable," Lightchase stated, making a note on the sparkling's file.

"Yeah remarkable where a little positive attention and affection get you, huh?" Jazz muttered, getting to his feet and strolling past Lightchase. "Let's continue. It's getting late."

Lightchase gazed at the sparkling dispassionately and signed the approval for the reprocessing. Then she followed Jazz out. Affection didn't buy resources for a city and neither did coddling weak, defective sparklings. They had a trade to complete and their benefactor from Kaon had wanted only the strongest sparks. It was business, there was no place for emotions.

****

Prowl stood quickly when the door to Meister’s suite opened. He had in all honesty barely sat down and had spent most of the cycle pacing worriedly. He ignored Vim’s pointed glance as the Ambassador strolled into his suite.

“Hey there, handsome,” Jazz drawled, giving Vim a nod, not missing the way he glared at Prowl.

Prowl didn’t respond except to incline his helm in acknowledgement, until Vim had left and closed the door behind him. He then marched to the berth room and stood waiting for Jazz to follow him. It was the only place in the suite where noise wouldn’t carry to the main door. “Did you find them?”

Jazz nodded. “They’re there alright. All three of them,” he glanced at Prowl, wondering how the mech was maintaining such composure knowing what was happening to his sparklings.

“Three… you found Bluestreak?” Prowl’s sensor panels on his back trembled. “Is he alright? The twins are they… how are they treating them? What does Bluestreak look like?”

Smiling a little at the sudden rush of questions Jazz held out his arm, with his hardline port open. “I know you don’t have enabled comms so you can download the image captures directly,” he offered.

Prowl stared at him, optics bright and hesitated before plugging his own hardline data cable into the port. He found and downloaded the image captures quickly and disconnected. When he opened them his intakes hitched and he sat slowly on the edge of the berth, his hand covering his mouth and his optics shimmering with unspoken emotions.

And there it was. The real mech hiding beneath Prowl’s impassive facade. This had to be absolute torture for him. It made Jazz’s spark ache in sympathy. He sat down beside Prowl and gazed at him intently. “Okay, I did what you wanted. I’ve been down there. Now I am pretty fraggin’ certain I’m the only mech you can trust in this Primus forsaken city so it’s time to tell me everything you know about the slag I just saw.”

Prowl ex-vented slowly and met Jazz’s gaze. “You’re not an ambassador are you?”

“You’re a smart one,” Jazz smirked slightly.

“Is your name even really Meister?”

“You haven’t earned my trust yet, mech. Start talking,” Jazz prompted gently. “I’ve got all dark cycle.”

Prowl nodded and looked down at his hands in his lap. “It is only right then that I start at the beginning.”

****

Flashback

Prowl entered the suite with his doorwings held high, this was a prestigious moment for him. He had worked his way up through the ranks of the enforcers and had been chosen to serve Praxus and its future. He was one of the best, the top five percentile of the latest chosen. He would contribute so much towards their future, it was a great honour. As one of their untouched creators, he had been hand picked by this particular mech himself. He was to help with the negotiations between Kaon and Praxus. A trade agreement that would solve Praxus’ resource shortage once and for all. He had been thoroughly prepared for this moment but he had not anticipated the sheer size of the mech.

He had heard stories regarding the ruler of Kaon, some good, some not. Prowl had chosen to steer away from idle gossip but he hadn’t missed the shared looks of apprehension between his handlers. Nor the nervous ripples in their energy fields. Now he understood their anxiety. He was much smaller than the warrior standing before him, his large hulking frame, towered over him and he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spinal struts as Lord Megatron smiled down at him. There was no warmth in that smile.

“Berth?” he asked simply, as he had been instructed.

“Excellent,” Megatron’s deep voice rumbled and his predatory smile widened.

This was his duty, it was an honour, Prowl told himself silently as he led the way to the berth room. Little did he know it would become a mantra he would hang onto with every fibre of his being over the next three cycles.

****

Jazz listened in complete silence as Prowl told of how Megatron had kept him in his suite for three full cycles. Most of that time had been spent in the warlord’s berth. Prowl described impassively how he had succumbed to exhaustion from continuous interfacing, only to online with the mech still inside him. He didn’t speak of the pain, Jazz knew he must have felt, nor the humiliation, he detected briefly rippling through his field, but the undertones were there. Jazz didn’t need that spelling out for him.

The interfacing had been brutal for Prowl, though. Megatron had fragged him to within an inch of his life, forcing multiple spark merges with him, while his spike remained swollen and locked inside his valve, ensuring all of his transfluid was transferred into the gestational chamber. Megatron had been determined to create a sparkling even at the expense of Prowl’s well-being, it sickened Jazz to his core. Prowl had been nothing more than a tool.

When Prowl described how he had been force fed energon to keep his levels up so he could continue, Jazz actually got up and started pacing around the room, trying to shake off some of the rage and revulsion he felt. He was relieved when Prowl’s retelling of events moved onto his sparklings. He had been forced to kindle with Megatron, not once but twice. The first time had been so successful that they had sparked twins. The second time proved to be a disappointment. Though not for Prowl. Jazz could tell by the tone of his voice and the quiver of his doorwings that Prowl deeply loved each and every one of his sparklings, even though he had barely met only two of them. “How could I not love them,” he had explained, optics shimmering at Jazz. “I felt them close to my spark, felt them grow, they felt my love and they returned it.”

That was when he had started asking questions. Questions about what Megatron wanted with sparklings, what was being traded, why were more creators having to kindle with his soldiers. He had gotten himself punished when he had found where his sparklings were kept and had officially named them in the database. He had only managed to find and speak to the twins who still recognised his spark signature before he had been dragged away by other enforcers.

“What did they do?” Jazz asked softly.

“I was given lashes across my wings,” Prowl explained. “And told that if I dishonoured them again then my creators would suffer. They are merely civilians. I was their eldest, when they had their second, they were forced to allow the state to take me, as payment for a non permissible sparkling. I do not hold it against them and I did not want them to suffer for my actions. The life of my third sparkling was also put into question, Bluestreak… he is already weaker than the twins, I could not risk probing further,” Prowl trailed off, his doorwings sinking on his back. “But now there is you,” he glanced up at Jazz.

Jazz’s intakes stalled at that. “Now hang on a klik. What is it you expect me to do here?”

“You don’t agree with what they’re doing, I can feel it in your field, in your body language,” Prowl replied. “You can help me, help me get them out. I know you’re from Iacon and you’re probably only on an intelligence gathering mission but please, when you go… you must… you must take them with you, they are innocents.”

Jazz stepped back as Prowl stood, his sharp optics pinned on him in earnest. “I think, we need to slow down here…”

“I don’t have the time to slow down. Megatron will return to claim what is his and I will not let him take my sparklings. They will not become warlords,” Prowl growled out, his doorwings rising on his back. “Either I get them out with your help or without it. You want intelligence about what Praxus is doing? What more proof could you need than them?”

“Carting a couple of sparklings back to Iacon is just going to get me thrown in the stockade, mech,” Jazz countered with a frown before an idea crossed his processor. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Would you be willing to testify to the council about what is going on here?”

Prowl hesitated. “My creators--”

“--Sold you into a life of slavery and rape, you owe them nothing. You have your own sparklings to think about now. Would you testify for them and for others like you?”

Prowl thought for a klik before giving Jazz a curt nod. “I would.”

“Alright then, looks like my plans just changed,” Jazz vented a sigh. “Now listen to me very carefully. You’re to do exactly as I say.”

Prowl frowned and canted his helm at Jazz. “Just who are you, really?”

Jazz let out a soft chuckle. “A gift from Primus.”


	4. Kindness of Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz didn't sign on for this part of the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticky interfacing this chapter.   
> Sorry for delay RL stuff ^_^;;

Bluestreak heard the footsteps approaching and swiftly, silently he unlocked the gate surrounding his berth and carefully lowered himself to the floor. A light came on in the adjacent room and the tiny sparkling scurried into one of the storage compartments. He crawled inside and shut the door as the room door opened.

"The glitch has escaped again," one femme growled out.

"Close the door. He's in here somewhere."

Bluestreak kept himself as still as possible as he listened to the two of them search the room. He covered his mouth when compartment doors started opening and closing loudly. Getting closer.

When light flooded his compartment, dazzling his optics, Bluestreak didn't hesitate. He scrambled out of the compartment and dashed between the legs of the enforcer.

"Catch him!" The mech snarled out in frustration.

The femme dived for the quick sparkling only for him to dart out of her way. "Fraggit!"

Bluestreak climbed up a nearby berth and wriggled his way into the mechanism. He trembled as angry hands reached for him, scratching at his plating, pulling scared whimpers from his vocaliser.

The berth padding was ripped off and Bluestreak screamed as a large hand grabbed him roughly. He squirmed and bit and wriggled as he was shoved into the femme's hands.

"Take him to reprocessing," the enforcer growled out, sensor panels high and rigid on his back.

****

Prowl sat quietly as Jazz went over his plan one more time. It would be risky, dangerous even and they would have to move quickly. Getting out of the city would be the most difficult aspect. With the sparklings they would not be able to use any public transports. Jazz had figured that the sparklings could somehow sit in their alt modes, until Prowl informed him that his transformation cogs had been removed once he had become a chosen creator. The first obstacle was getting the sparklings. That would be Prowl’s job. They had however, encountered a problem.

“Are you absolutely certain that they will punish you?” Jazz asked for the fourth time.

“Yes. The medics have scanners that tell them if and when interfacing has occurred. If it has not, I will be punished for failing in my duty.”

Jazz vented a sigh at that and dimmed his visor. “This is wrong… I can’t. You don’t even have a choice in this!”

“You must. If this plan is to have any hope of succeeding. If you don't not only will I be punished but you will fall under suspicion as well.”

Jazz shook his helm. “That’s not a big deal, I don’t plan on staying long.”

Prowl watched as the mech paced up and down before him. “There is no other way. If it helps, I do not and will not hold it against you… this is simply the way things are here.”

Sitting back down beside Prowl on the edge of the berth, Jazz gazed at him somewhat sadly. “This is tantamount to rape.”

“You have my consent.”

“But you don’t have a choice!” Jazz pointed out, exasperated. “It’s interface with me before you go back to your supervisors or very likely get tortured with whatever punishment they concoct up for you. That is not a choice, Prowl.”

“It is all we have,” Prowl replied simply. “And we are wasting time debating it.”

Deflating, Jazz stared at the wall of his berth room and shook his helm. He knew Prowl was right. In order for Prowl to move freely upon his return, he needed to have fulfilled his duty, even if he hadn’t kindled. That would only allow him to return the next cycle, hopefully with the sparklings. If interfacing hadn’t happened, Prowl would suffer and their plan would fail before it had even begun. “Please forgive me,” he whispered softly, looking down at the floor.

“I already have,” Prowl murmured, holding Jazz’s gaze as the mech smiled sadly at him. “But only because you will not accept that there is nothing to forgive.”

Jazz watched with a dim visor as Prowl shifted and laid back on the berth. He could tell by the shimmer in his energy field that the mech was nervous. Well if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. Moving to lie on his side beside Prowl, he propped his helm up with his hand and lightly trailed a finger up the length of Prowl’s body.

Prowl shivered at the touch and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. That was until Jazz started talking.

“Have you ever enjoyed it?”

He stared at the mech quizzically. “Enjoyed what? Interfacing?” At Jazz’s nod, Prowl frowned. “I was not under the impression there was anything to enjoy.”

“It hurt?” Jazz asked softly. When Prowl nodded, he felt a fresh wave of anger but pushed it aside for now. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Prowl tried to slow his intakes as the mech named Meister moved closer, his mouth pressing gently to his shoulder before moving to a headlight. He gasped when a slick glossa licked over the glass and swirled about the rim, sending ripples of pleasure through his sensor net.

When Jazz started to move his hands over Prowl’s frame, exploring and teasing, he couldn’t help but become aroused at how responsive Prowl was. The mech clearly had never really been touched in an enjoyable way, which only made Jazz angrier, knowing that Megatron had not even bothered to try and please Prowl or give him pleasure. With that knowledge, Jazz took his time caressing every sensitive seam he could find, deft fingers wriggling beneath Prowl’s bumper, eliciting low moans of enjoyment from the Praxian. When Prowl tried to awkwardly return his advances, Jazz took hold of his hands and kissed them with a smile. “Let me please you?”

Prowl didn’t know what to say to that and simply acquiesced. His sensor net was being assaulted by a myriad of pleasant sensations he had not before experienced, they were also wreaking havoc with his thought processes.

Jazz pressed a kiss to Prowl’s mouth after hesitating a few kliks. He was pleased when it was shyly returned. He could feel Prowl’s body temperature rising and he stroked his fingers over the mech’s still closed panel. “Open for me,” he uttered thickly, his own arousal soaring as Prowl whimpered. He felt the Praxian tense a little as the panel slid back but it all evaporated when Jazz gently dipped the tip of a finger into his valve. Prowl’s intakes hitched and his mouth fell open, optics gazing up at Jazz with a trust that was humbling.

When the mech’s finger slid deeper into his valve, caressing sensor nodes embedded in the lining, Prowl could only grip him tightly and cry out, hips rising up to meet the pleasure blooming within his interface array.

Jazz felt his own spike harden at the sounds Prowl was making. Pumping his finger in and out of his valve, he pulled free before he got carried away, as much as he wanted to see the mech in overload, he wanted to do it right, ensure that Prowl enjoyed what interfacing should feel like. Prowl whined and murmured for more, his optics darkened and unfocused as he looked up at Jazz. Not one to waste time, Jazz’s panel opened and he shifted, slowly pushing Prowl’s legs apart as he settled between them, using one hand to guide his spike to that slick, inviting heat.

Prowl’s intakes stalled as Jazz pushed forward, his spike sinking into him slowly. There was none of the pain he had felt with Megatron. Pain that had made him pass out briefly. That was something he was thankful for because when he had come to, Megatron had already been thrusting into him. Prowl's body had protected itself by increasing the lubrication to his valve to prevent further damage and the worst of the pain had passed.

This felt nothing like that experience. Meister had worked him up so expertly that he was sure his valve was leaking lubricant onto the berth. When the mech filled him with his spike, his valve ached wonderfully as it was stretched. Prowl was incoherent as Meister began to roll his hips with shallow thrusts, before picking up his pace and thrusting deeper, harder into him.

Jazz grunted as his spike was squeezed. Despite the circumstances, he wasn’t going to deny that this felt good. He hated that he had to have met Prowl this way. The mech was easy on the optic and Jazz would not have minded taking him to his berth under better circumstances. Still, he would make this as pleasurable as possible for Prowl and changed his rhythm slightly to prolong their inevitable overload. His spike throbbed hotly and he groaned as his pleasure increased exponentially with every thrust. Kissing Prowl deeply again, Jazz mouthed over his lips. “Open your chamber,” he prompted, kissing over Prowl’s chest as it parted.

Prowl knew that Jazz didn’t want to kindle but he wasn’t sure how the mech was going to prevent it, given that they still had to merge their sparks. All he knew right at this moment though, was that he didn’t want it to stop.

Jazz knew it was risky merging their sparks, he only hoped that the last minute coding he’d implemented into his own systems would force their sparks to separate before a full merge was completed. Hopefully they would both be too overcome by their own overloads that they wouldn’t notice. He gazed at Prowl’s spark as it came into view and noticed the slight discolourations marring it’s brilliant surface. Slowing his movements, he brushed his fingers reverently through the sparklight. The marks were scars. Scars caused by carrying and not being allowed adequate time to recover.

He kissed Prowl once more and pressed their chests together. Their sparks drew closer and began to intertwine. Jazz resumed his movements, moaning as their sparks slowly merged into one. His thrusts became more erratic and desperate as he chased that climax.

Prowl found it first and arched sharply on the berth, his body stiffening as the first truly pleasurable overload he had ever experienced tore through him. He cried out his ecstasy, his face bathed in sparklight and clung to Jazz as though his life depended on it.

Jazz was enthralled by the sight and by the depth of emotion and wasted intellect he found within Prowl’s spark. His coding activated as his own overload crashed through his systems, his spike jerked as it spilled its contents into the tight valve and his spark withdrew from Prowl’s, pulling a smaller secondary overload from them both.

Spent, Jazz slumped strutlessly over Prowl’s body, both of them trembling from exertion and the ebbing tingling sensations of their overloads. Jazz forced himself to move, slipping free from Prowl and flopped onto his side beside him. He didn’t miss hearing Prowl’s whispered ‘thank you’ before recharge claimed them both.

****

 


	5. Rescue

Prowl laid patiently through his invasive, tedious medical scans. His supervisors were satisfied with his efforts with the Iaconian ambassador but unhappy that he hadn’t sparked. They were appeased somewhat when Prowl told them his company had been requested for a further three cycles.

**  
**

Exiting the medical suite, Prowl was free to go about his business until his appointed time with Meister. He was tracked after all, so it wasn’t like he would ever get far. He had to be very careful and discreet with what he was about to do, however. If seen by any other enforcers, he would undoubtedly be reported and punished.

**  
**

He waited for shift change to make his way to the sparkling center. Nobody gave him a second glance amidst the crowds of creators and enforcers and caretakers. His reputation gave him an added advantage in that he had a certain level of privilege over other creators. He still was not permitted to visit his sparklings however, that was why he had been punished the last time. This time he was especially vigilant and had asked for help from the one mech who had gained his trust since he had joined the creator program.

**  
**

//Are the monitoring cameras on a loop?// he asked softly into an external comm unit.

**  
**

//Ready, you have at most two breems before I have to let the system reset.//

**  
**

//Acknowledged, I’ll be in and out. Comm silence until I contact you again.//

**  
**

//Good luck, Prowl.//

**  
**

Prowl stowed the external communicator and discreetly stepped into the sparkling facility. There were minimal workers here due to the shift change but it wouldn’t remain that way. He knew where his twins were kept and they were the easiest to get to so he headed quickly through the maze of corridors. He spied them in the training room sparring with other sparklings. It chilled his spark to see how vicious they already were and how brutal in their takedowns. They fought together seamlessly however and worked better as a team than any enforcer he had trained with. Hoping they still recognised him, Prowl stepped inside and waited. The sparklings would simply acknowledge his presence as another supervisor but he had met the twins before. He beckoned to them with a simple flare of his field and waited.

**  
**

Finishing their sparring match, the young mechlings glanced at each other before marching confidently over to Prowl.

**  
**

“You are well?” Prowl asked simply.

**  
**

The yellow twin nodded curtly, while the red one gave a shrug. “They said… you’re not supposed to come here.”

**  
**

Prowl vented a sigh and crouched down. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you know who I am, correct? You feel the pull of your sparks?”

**  
**

Both twins hesitated before nodding.

**  
**

“Do you trust me?”

**  
**

Sunstreaker shared a wary glance with his brother, their tiny hands interlinking before they both nodded silently.

**  
**

“I wish to give you a better life than one into which you were sparked. Will you come with me?” Prowl asked, his spark pounding with apprehension in his chest.

**  
**

“It’s dangerous outside, the caretakers said we shouldn’t.”

**  
**

Prowl stilled, his optics dimming as he bowed his helm. He truly did not want to force them but he would not leave them behind. In time he hoped they would understand. He opened his mouth to insist when Sideswipe spoke up first.

**  
**

“Doesn’t mean we won’t.”

**  
**

Prowl looked up sharply, his spark fluttering at the sight of the matching smirks on his twins’ faceplates. “We must move quickly. I need to find your brother.”

**  
**

“Bluestreak?” Sideswipe asked with bright optics.

**  
**

Frowning, Prowl stared at them. “How do you know his name?”

**  
**

“He told us,” replied the golden twin. “They took him, last cycle.”

**  
**

“Where?” Prowl demanded. His spark sank when both twins pointed in the direction of the reprocessing centre. “Come, now.”

**  
**

Prowl ushered the twins out of the training room and they jogged towards the reprocessing centre. This place sent chills down Prowl’s back struts and there was always a guard. Gathering up the twins swiftly, he set them on a niche out of view of the main corridor. “Wait here. I will be back for you.”

**  
**

“We can help,” Sideswipe pouted.

**  
**

“We’re strong,” Sunstreaker added.

**  
**

“I know but it’s too dangerous, please stay here.”

**  
**

The twins watched Prowl slip into the reprocessing centre before slipping off their perch and following their creator inside.

**  
**

Prowl forced himself not to look at the greyed out shells of former sparklings that had either been reprocessed or had not survived the procedure. Bluestreak was not among them, he would feel it in his spark, he told himself. He headed for the lit up room at the back and pulled out the dagger that Meister had given to him and showed him where to stow it without a subspace. If he had to he would fight.

**  
**

Opening the door, he stilled in horror. Bluestreak was strapped down to a small berth with the reprocessing calibrator attached to his helm. The medic carrying out the procedure stopped in shock and lunged for the emergency alarm. Prowl moved quickly, leaping over the small berth and yanking the femme back before she could activate the alarm. She tried to scream but Prowl crushed her vocaliser in a fit of rage, his creator coding taking over as he fought to protect his youngest sparkling. Dragging her out of view of Bluestreak, Prowl spun her around and plunged the dagger into her chest, growling softly into her audio. “You will take no more innocent lives.”

**  
**

Lowering her greyed out shell to the floor, Prowl rushed back to the berth. Bluestreak flinched away from him with a whimper and struggled on the berth. Prowl quickly cut through the restraints and began to remove the device from his helm, clicking at him reassuringly, letting his field expand over Bluestreak to share his love and promise to protect him. He froze when he felt the muzzle of an acid pellet rifle pressed to his helm.

**  
**

“Release the sparkling and turn around slowly,” the enforcer growled.

**  
**

Prowl did as he was ordered, assessing the situation rapidly. He would probably get shot if he rushed the mech who was a good head bigger than him.

**  
**

“You will get several cycles in isolation for this, breeder. You will learn your pla--urgkk!”

**  
**

Prowl’s optics blinked as energon suddenly dribbled from the enforcer’s mouth, his words cut off with a gargle. Two helms popped up either side of the enforcer’s and grinned at him, each holding up a torn energon line from the enforcer’s back in his small deadly hands.

**  
**

“Told you we can help,” Sunstreaker declared darkly, driving his own blade into the base of the enforcer’s helm and twisting it, cutting off the processor from the rest of his body.

**  
**

Prowl was too stunned to reply and caught the mech as he went limp. Putting him on the ground, he took the mech’s weapon and gave his energon covered twins a pointed look before returning his attentions to Bluestreak. “Come on, Bluestreak, I’m getting you out of here,” he tried to lift Bluestreak off the berth only for the tiny sparkling to wriggle free and leap off the berth, rushing straight into the arms of his older brothers, glancing over his winglets fearfully at Prowl.

**  
**

“It’s alright, Blue’, he’s our creator, he won’t hurt us,” Sideswipe, petted his brother’s twitching winglets as he soothed the smaller mech’s frantic whistles and clicks.

**  
**

It practically broke Prowl’s spark in two that his own creation was afraid of him but there was no time to deal with that now. He grabbed an energon delivery container and gestured for the sparklings to get inside quickly.

**  
**

The twins kept a hold of a trembling Bluestreak who could barely look at Prowl and they all climbed inside.

**  
**

“Now you must be silent. I’ll let you out soon. I promise.”

**  
**

“We know,” Sunstreaker replied resolutely, shutting the lid over them.

**  
**

Prowl mentally readied himself before stepping out of the room with the container in hand. He ran through the corridors, avoiding the main ones as he was now out of time. He needed to get out of the sparkling center before he was spotted. Hopefully nobody would need to use the reprocessing facility until they were already on their way. Slipping out of the sparkling center, he darted down a corridor before joining the main one and slowing his pace. He had to appear inconspicuous as the next shift of enforcers and supervisors strolled casually past him, barely sparing him a passing glance. He was positive he was going to have a spark attack, his spark was pulsing so hard and fast.

**  
**

He began to relax as he headed out of the creators’ suites and towards the guest rooms situated in the adjoining hotel. //Vim? Are you there?// he whispered into his external communicator.

**  
**

//Oh thank Primus! I thought for sure they’d got you. You ran out of time like a breem ago.//

**  
**

//I know I was held up. You should leave. Leave Praxus. Get your family and go as far away as you can. Thank you for all you have done.//

**  
**

//It’s not over yet, Prowl. If I leave now, they’ll know something is up. Until the bitter end.//

**  
**

//Your family…?//

**  
**

//Are already on an underground transport to Polihex. Don’t worry about them. You’re not the only one who can plan ahead.//

**  
**

Prowl smiled faintly. //You are a true friend.//

**  
**

//You sure you can trust this… Meister? You can always come with me….//

**  
**

//Not with the sparklings we would both be stopped and probably executed. I have no choice. He seems… genuine...//

**  
**

//I hope you’re right, just seemed off to me. I’ll see you after the delegate meetings, stay in the suite, you have my key code.//

**  
**

Prowl didn’t need to reply and cut the comm as he turned down the corridor to Meister’s suite. All he had to do now was wait and hope that the Ambassador wasn’t held up too long. Once the mess in reprocessing was discovered they would undoubtedly come looking for him. He had changed the twins’ schedules to recharging so they wouldn’t be missed straight away but he hadn’t had chance to change the scheduled reprocessing of Bluestreak thanks to the attack. He just prayed to Primus that he had bought them all enough time.

**  
**

****

**  
**

Jazz was not enjoying the audit. Not that he had expected to but knowing Prowl was currently risking his life and that of his sparklings was on the forefront of his processor. In addition, the Praxian delegates were as shifty as Jazz had expected them to be. There were so many holes in their cover ups, it would have been amusing had he not been playing for time. Phoebus was so wound up from his probing questions, the Praxian’s sensor panels were constantly twitching. Right before he could open another line of questioning the door opened and Vim stepped into the room.

**  
**

“Forgive my intrusion, delegates,” he started cheerfully. “Ambassador Meister, you have a message from Iacon, from the Prime.”

**  
**

Phoebus almost looked relieved to have a break in the proceedings and waved Vim closer. “It must be important, we can wait.”

**  
**

Jazz’s mouth twitched into a faint smirk at that and glanced at Vim who had come to stand beside him. He resisted the urge to pull away when the mech leaned into his space and handed him a datapad with only one thing written on it. This was no message from Prime.

**  
**

LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. YOU ARE IN DANGER.

**  
**

Jazz hummed and nodded. “When did you receive this message?” he asked casually, looking at Vim.

**  
**

“Only a quarter of a cycle ago, Ambassador.”

**  
**

Jazz nodded and looked at Phoebus and his delegates. “I’m terribly sorry delegates. I must return this communique, it is quite urgent. You understand,” he stated pushing to his feet.

**  
**

“You can always return it in my office, Ambassador,” Phoebus offered.

**  
**

“Thank you, but I have important information in my suite that the Prime has requested. Please do not concern yourselves, this matter is not regarding Praxus, I am so far pleased by my findings,” he smiled at Scintilla and Lightchase who both gave him a knowing smile and a nod of acknowledgement. “Perhaps we can resume next cycle, when we’ve all had some rest, it has been a busy cycle.”

**  
**

“Yes, yes, of course,” Phoebus smiled and relented. “Next cycle, Ambassador, rest well.”

**  
**

“And you. Delegates,” Jazz bowed his helm before turning on his heel and marching out of the room with Vim close behind.

**  
**

“I do not trust him,” Phoebus muttered. “Scintilla, have a guard posted by his suite, be discreet.”

**  
**

Scintilla inclined his helm. “Consider it done,” his helm snapped sharply towards Lightchase when she suddenly cursed loudly.

**  
**

Lightchase scowled as she received an urgent comm. //When did it happen?//

**  
**

Scintilla shared a concerned glance with Phoebus.

**  
**

//And the glitch?// Lightchase hissed in anger and nodded. //Understood, post guards at all exits. Check the others, tell me if anyone else is missing.//

**  
**

“Lightchase, what is it?” Phoebus asked.

**  
**

“Two of my personnel were killed this cycle in the reprocessing facility. A sparkling that was undergoing procedure is missing. The caretakers are counting the sparklings now.”

**  
**

“Who could have done this?” Phoebus demanded sharply.

**  
**

Scintilla growled and met Lightchase’s gaze. “We have our suspicions. Find him.”

**  
**

Lightchase bowed deeply and rushed from the room.

**  
**

Scintilla glanced at his leader who was glaring at him expectantly.

**  
**

“Well?”

**  
**

“I believe it is the sparkling’s creator. He has tried to contact them before and he has asked too many questions since our meeting with the Kaon leader.”

**  
**

Phoebus vented a sigh and sat back. “Which sparkling was taken?”

**  
**

“Lord Megatron’s defective one, I fear his prize sparklings will also be missing. The breeder has betrayed us.”

**  
**

Phoebus nodded. “Possibly a result of unresolved carrier protocols. It was inevitable with so little time between sparkings. Nevertheless, he has betrayed Praxus. Find him. The sparklings are our top priority, if Lord Megatron does not get what he wants, resources will be the last of our worries.”

**  
**

“And the breeder?” Scintilla enquired.

**  
**

“He will need to be made an example of. Public sensor panel strip followed by his execution. There is too much at risk for any dissent to be permitted, Praxus’ very survival depends on this trade agreement with Kaon.”

**  
**

“If he has help?”

**  
**

Phoebus looked at his delegate with hard optics. “Terminate them in front of him so he knows the price of his treason and disloyalty.”

**  
**

“Understood,” Scintilla bowed and marched from the room, already barking orders into his comm.

**  
**

“Primus forgive us all,” Phoebus murmured, optics dimming.

****  



	6. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz helps Prowl and his sparklings but is it in time.

As Jazz entered his suite, he was greeted by the sound of laughter and started when Vim slipped inside and locked the door behind them. “What the frag?” he growled, immediately on the defensive, pulling a blade from subspace, as Vim held up his hands.

“I’m a friend, please don’t!”

“Meister!”

Jazz turned at the sound of Prowl’s voice. “What the frag is going on?” he demanded harshly. 

“I have them, Vim helped, he has helped me since Megatron…”

Jazz pulled back, still eyeing Vim suspiciously. “Could have told me,” he muttered. “Where are the sparklings?” 

Prowl smiled a little. “They’re getting cleaned up,” he gestured for Jazz to follow him as he headed into the wash rack area. 

Subspacing his blade and giving Vim one last warning glower, Jazz followed Prowl and stopped at the doorway. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight. In the makeshift bath that Prowl had set up, three happy sparklings were playing and splashing in the warm solution bath. They had obviously already been cleaned a while ago and Prowl was just letting them play. 

“I have never heard them laugh,” Prowl whispered beside Jazz.

Glancing at Prowl he squeezed his arm in sympathy before stepping into the room. The sparklings froze and frowned at him suspiciously. Bluestreak’s intakes hiccuped and he whimpered, trying to hide behind his brothers. Crouching down, Jazz smiled. “Remember me?”

“Winked at us,” Sideswipe stated, still unsure about this strange looking mech. 

“That I did. Glad to see you looking happier now.”

“You can’t take us away,” Sunstreaker growled out, “we won’t let you take our creator away from us.”

Jazz frowned and shook his helm. “Not going to do that bitlet, just relax alright?”

“I apologise, the twins are quite protective, fiercely so. I had not anticipated the strength of the carrier, sparkling bond once we were all reunited,” Prowl explained, coming to stand beside Jazz.

“It’s alright mech. Family is family and you have to look after your family right?” he smiled at the frowning twins.

“Unless they want to hurt us,” Sideswipe added. “Like our other creator.”

Jazz nodded in agreement, a small frown on his face. “Megatron is bad news, bitlets, you’re right not to trust him.” His face broke into a smile when he caught sight of Bluestreak’s little face peeking out between the twins. “Hey there little one, you remember me don’t you?”

Bluestreak whistled and his tiny sensor panels twitched constantly as he crept closer and regarded Jazz with more scrutiny. 

“He won’t come near me yet,” Prowl explained softly. “I look too much like his caretakers and those that hurt him.”

“Give him time, mech, he knows who you are, he’ll feel it in his spark just like his brothers. He’s younger though and probably doesn’t understand what it means yet,” Jazz pulled out a rust stick. “Bet you remember this though, don’t you?” he laughed when Bluestreak’s hand shot out, silently demanding the rush stick, his optics bright and fixed on the candy. Holding it out, Jazz grinned when the sparkling came tentatively closer and grabbed the rust stick before moving back between his brothers quickly. 

Giving the rust stick a tentative lick before sucking it happily, Bluestreak gave Jazz a little shy smile. “Mes--ter…” he whispered. 

Jazz chuckled. “Meister, that’s right, that’s my name, you do remember me, Bluestreak.” 

The sparkling chirred and nodded, content that he was in no immediate danger, though kept throwing furtive, uncertain glances in Prowl’s direction as he ate his rust stick. 

Prowl felt his spark clenching tightly in his chest when Bluestreak spoke to Meister. It was hard to watch his sparkling trust a stranger more than his own creator. Though he was little more than a stranger to him too. He smiled faintly, his spark twisting when Meister handed the twins a rust stick of their own and they beamed at him brightly, before silently ducking out of the room.

Jazz glanced over his shoulder as Prowl left and frowned slightly. “You three stay here, be good okay?” With three conscientious nods, he pushed up and followed Prowl into the berth room. The mech was standing with his back to him, scarred sensor panels twitching. “You okay?” 

Sensor panels stilling, Prowl composed himself before turning around. “I will be fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend everything is cool, mech.”

“Meister, I’m fine. Thank you for helping me and my sparklings. I could not have gotten them out without your help, I fear we do not have much time, however.”

“My name is not Meister, it’s Jazz and I didn’t save your sparklings, you did. They’ll warm to you, just give them time.” Jazz however, knew a dismissal when he heard one. Prowl wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings and he wasn’t going to push. They still had a long journey ahead of them. “Well Vim said I was in danger, so he probably knows what’s going on more than we do, let’s go and have a chat shall we?” 

“Agreed,” Prowl stated, heading out of the room with Jazz. “Your name is Jazz?” he asked with curious surprise.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s just not what I expected your real name to be,” Prowl declared matter of factly. “Seems so… carefree and whimsical, which forgive me for saying, you don’t.”

Jazz chuckled softly. “Aw, Prowl, you have no idea.”

****

Jazz had been extremely grateful for Vim’s quick actions. Getting him out of his meeting with the Praxian delegates and then shifting them to a different room off the hotel’s books had been a life saver. The enforcers had already been to his former suite according to Vim and now both he and Prowl were sought after. The enforcers were going from room to room. Luckily for Jazz there were hundreds in this particular hotel and Vim had moved them to the other side of the hotel. 

Jazz was used to coming up with plans on the go but he had never had to take into account another mech and three young sparklings before. Nor had he anticipated being chased out of Praxus. Time was of the essence. He had insisted on waiting until the dark cycle to give them the best opportunity and Prowl had sat down with his twin sparklings, while Jazz had played with Bluestreak. The maturity in the young twins was somewhat unsettling to Jazz but they would be instrumental in helping keep their younger sibling calm.

“Are they ready?” Jazz asked softly when Prowl entered the living area of the suite. 

With a flick of his wings, Prowl inclined his helm slightly. “As they’ll ever be. They’re resting now.” 

“Good, they’ll need it.” Jazz canted his helm as Prowl seemed to hesitate. “Something on your processor?” 

“Vim has been gone a while…” Prowl frowned and spared a glance at the door. “And he has not answered the portable comm.”

That had actually been on Jazz’s processor too but they couldn’t wait much longer. “I’m sure he’s okay, he’s been playing this game longer than we have, after all,” he shared a reassuring smile with Prowl who did not return the gesture. Jazz studied him for a few kliks as the Praxian sat on the sofa and kept glancing at the door, his frame painfully stiff with tension. He wondered how long Prowl had been carrying the burden of what his fellow Praxians were doing. How long had he suffered in silence before finally speaking out? “Punished for asking questions,” he murmured softly, peering out of the window. It was all too familiar to how the council back in Iacon dictated things. That was what had first riled up Megatron and forced him to speak out against them. Optimus Prime was doing his best to try and negotiate with the Kaonite but Jazz knew that if Megatron was buying and growing an army of predominantly warrior sparklings, then he only had one thing on his processor. This did not bode well for any of them. 

The door opened suddenly and Jazz whirled around, his blade drawn in an instant. He relaxed a fraction when he saw that it was Vim. “What is it?” he asked, sensing the urgency in Vim’s field. 

“You’ve got to go, now,” the Praxian insisted, striding across the room towards Prowl and tugging him to his feet. “They’re coming.”

“Did you manage to get us a transport?” Jazz asked, rounding the sofa seat. 

Vim nodded. “It will wait at the gate for one breem only, you must go now. The mech running it is a contact. You can trust him, he does this a lot.” 

“What? Smuggle mechs out of Praxus?” Jazz asked incredulously. 

Vim gave him a sad smile. “Not everything that glitters is beautiful,” he replied wistfully. “Perhaps one cycle Praxus will return to what it was before this… corruption took its spark.”

Prowl’s doorwings lowered. “May Primus will it.” 

Vim smiled at him and took hold of Prowl’s hands, squeezing them. “You must go now, Prowl, take your sparklings, flee, please.” 

“You’re coming with us…?” Prowl declared with a confused frown, only for it to deepen when Vim pulled away, his optics dimming. 

“I cannot, not until I know my family are safe.”

Doorwings flaring out, Prowl stepped closer. “They will torture you.”

“What must be, will be. It is for the people of Praxus. Everyone needs to know what is happening here,” Vim insisted earnestly. “Please, do not waste time with sentiment.”

“He’s right, Prowl,” Jazz added grimly. “I’ll get the sparklings.” 

Prowl didn’t look away from Vim as Jazz left the room. “Vim… I...thank you… for everything.”

Vim smiled brightly and drew closer, resting his forehelm against Prowl’s. “You are the bravest of us, Prowl. You stood up and spoke out against them. You stole from them, took back the stolen parts of your spark. Tell them of us, tell them of Praxus, the real Praxus. They are our future now. You are our future,” 

Prowl’s intakes hitched when Vim pressed his lip components to the centre of his chevon and his optics dimmed. His spark ached with the dawning realisation that he was about to betray everything he had ever known, possibly sentencing his creators and his dearest friend to suffering and death in the process. 

“Creator?” 

Prowl turned at the small voice and smiled at the twins standing together, their brother in Jazz’s arms, all of them gazing at him expectantly. He turned back to Vim who was already at the door, peering out cautiously.

Vim waved them over. “Go to the roof, use my personal transport to get you down to the city, I have already preset the coordinates. Destroy it when you disembark,” he explained, his gaze fixed on Jazz. “Please take care of them, Ambassador,” he bowed his helm respectfully, the respect and gratitude reflected in his energy field. 

Jazz smiled faintly and nodded. “Count on it, you take care of yourself, you hear me?” 

Vim chuckled. “Always, now go, I will create a distraction shortly.”

Jazz nodded and ushered the sparklings out of the door, glancing at Prowl as he passed him. 

Prowl hesitated and touched his thumbs to his chevron in farewell to Vim and held out his hand. 

Vim’s optics flickered and lightly touched his palm to Prowl’s, before the mech swept out of the room with only one last look back in his direction. He held up his hand in farewell, his spark pulsing harder in his chest. There was no going back now. “May Primus be with us all,” he uttered softly as the sound of approaching enforcers filled his audio. He had no intention of being taken and tortured. He had always prepared for this possibility. Stepping back into the suite, he walked over to the window and gazed out over his once beloved city. He had already received word that his family and a number of his friends had successfully escaped and were now safe from the clutches of Praxus’ elite. 

Enforcers pounded on the door behind him and he turned to greet them as they burst into the room, with his brightest, most welcoming smile.

****

Jazz moved quickly, Prowl fast on his heels as they sprinted up the stairs to the rooftop. Sure enough a small transport waited for them. Jazz recognised it as the one that had been his transport around Praxus. He slipped inside and settled Bluestreak on his lap. The sparkling whimpered softly and clung to him but remained thankfully calm. His visor met Prowl’s worried optics as the Praxian sat beside him and held his twins tightly to his frame. 

The transport was only really designed for two mechs but the sparklings were small enough to be held on their laps. 

Once the door sealed, the transport lifted off from the hotel roof and accelerated away from the building. The takeoff was smooth and the transport picked up speed gradually, when suddenly it was rocked violently as an explosion erupted behind them. 

The sparklings screamed as the transport shuddered and the metal screeched with tension as a whole floor of the hotel seemed to disappear before their optics. The capsule careened from its course and scraped along another building before the autopilot corrected its route and sped up, away from the carnage. 

When far enough away the transport settled and Prowl gently tried to soothe his twins while Jazz hummed to Bluestreak who was sobbing into his plating desperately. Jazz gave Prowl a side long look, only to find him tightly holding his twins close - them comforting him as he was comforting them - his optics offline, his face pinched with unspoken distress. Jazz felt a pang of sympathy for the mech but he knew that sometimes sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. He had seen it before in his line of work. He made a silent vow to Primus that their sacrifice would not be in vain. 

****

Large hands gripped the datapad his subordinate had given him and tightened as he read the communique from Praxus. 

_ Iacon involvement. Full shipment can still be fulfilled. However, date of transfer needs to be moved up before outside interference.  _

_ Infiltrator has bot-napped your sparklings and preferred breeder, please advise on course of action. _

A guttural growl rumbled through his large chest and the datapad gave up its fight and crumpled to nothing but shards in the mech’s fist. 

“Query: message from Praxus; undesirable?” 

Ruby optics glinted as they looked up at the speaker. “Incompetents. My warriors are missing. Prepare my transport at once,” ordered the deep timbre. 

“Trade; not possible?” 

“Oh yes, perfectly possible. They only managed to lose  _ my _ warriors, bot-napped by some Iaconian agent along with their carrier,” the voice was a low rumbling calm, despite the fury raging beneath the surface. “Prepare a battalion to join me.”

“Inquiry: will attack Praxus?” 

“No, nothing so crude. First we retrieve what is mine and then I will have Phoebus’ head as a trophy, if Praxus know what is good for them. We leave this cycle. See it done, Soundwave!” 

“As you command, Lord Megatron,” the blue helm of Soundwave bowed sharply, red visor bright as the hulking figure of Megatron swept past him with a snarl of frustration and left the room.


	7. Complications abound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse.

Jazz had been relieved to find Vim’s contact where he’d said he’d be and he gave the mech a grateful smile as he helped usher the curious sparklings on board the large transport vessel.

“You’ve got to stay in the storage carriage. It’s a bit cramped but you can easily hide in here if we get inspected by enforcers,” the gruff mech explained.

Prowl frowned and glanced back at the chaos erupting around the city centre. “Hopefully they are too busy to consider such actions just yet.”

The other Praxian grunted noncommittally. “Wouldn’t count on it. You enforcer types… don’t miss a spark pulse if it isn’t authorised. I’ll be surprised if we aren’t all vapourised leaving the city walls.”

Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. “Mech, please, there are sparklings,” he reminded somewhat impatiently.

“Better they learn the truth, no use shielding them now. Not after what the breeder has put them through.”

Prowl turned to level a cold stare at the mech. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Vim told me how you gave up the bitlets. Did you leave him behind too?”

“You know nothing!” Prowl snarled, stepping into the larger mech’s space, only to find Jazz in his path. “Move.”

Jazz shook his helm. “Not on your life. We don’t have time for this. Let it go, before some mech gets hurt,” he hesitated, sighing when the anger in Prowl’s field didn’t fade. “You really want them to see you like this… Blue’ is already scared…” he didn’t need to add the words ‘of you,’ but Jazz could see from the flicker in Prowl’s optics as he glanced at the waiting watching sparklings, that his comment hit home and had stung. He relaxed a fraction when Prowl relented and swept past him, partially shoving him out of his way as he gathered up the sparklings, ignoring Bluestreak’s fearful protests and carried them into the carriage.

“I’d be careful around that one if I were you,” the large Praxian huffed indignantly. “Breeders get attached to those who frag ‘em, they’ll betray anyone who gets in their way.”

Jazz clenched his denta and forced himself to stay calm. “Seriously, mech. Know when to shut up,” he glanced over his shoulder. “You were paid to do a job, I suggest you get to it.”

The mech didn’t need telling twice, not with the undertone of warning in Jazz’s even voice.

****

“You okay?” Jazz asked gently as he sat down opposite Prowl, steadying himself as the transport lurched into life.

Prowl glared at him silently before looking away, focusing on his sparklings who were playing a game on the floor between them.

“Look, mech, we’ve got a long journey ahead of us and trust me it’ll go a lot smoother if you just talk to me, you compute?”

Frowning slightly, Prowl sighed. “I didn’t need you to defend me,” he replied quietly, smiling a little at the golden twin who had glanced up at him and Jazz curiously for a few kliks.

Jazz watched as Prowl lightly stroked the sparkling’s helm fin and being rewarded with a happy chirr from the golden bitlet, before the sparkling was once again engrossed in the game with his brothers. “You’re glitching at me over that?” he asked somewhat incredulously. “You do realise that all I’ve been doing since I got here is trying to help you, right?”

“It’s not that I begrudge your help, Jazz,” Prowl replied, clasping his hands on his lap. “It’s just I don’t want you thinking that I am defenceless, that I wouldn’t have tried to take care of my sparklings myself. I don’t want us to be more of a burden on you than we already are,” he frowned deeply and met Jazz’s gaze with a determined one of his own. “I will do anything to protect my family, no matter what.”

Jazz couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Prowler, don’t think for a klik that I don’t get that, or that I think you’re not capable of kicking some aft. I had a sneaky peek at your file, I know what you can do. I think you’ve been a severely wasted asset to Praxus but I’m not in charge of a city, what do I know. I honestly just wanted to stop you potentially deactivating our one way out of this place because mech, your emotional control is sorta scary, you went from icy cold to smelting in nano secs and I wasn’t certain that mech’s helm was going to remain attached for much longer if I left you to it,” he grinned and shook his helm. “So don’t think I got all up in your grill because I thought you couldn’t handle yourself. Trust me, it’s quite the opposite of that.”

Prowl stared at Jazz, not quite sure what to say to his veiled compliments. Then he canted his helm quizzically and regarded Jazz with confusion. “Prowler?”

Jazz just laughed. This was going to be an interesting journey, that much was certain.

****

Megatron marched through the city’s gates, ignoring the protests from the enforcers as his own soldiers silenced them swiftly. He glanced about as he walked, enjoying the fearful gazes from Praxus’ citizens. These were mechs and femmes who had been controlled and dictated to their entire lives. When the time came they would either join him or fall. He didn’t really care which. A mech was only good if he could fight. There would be no place for submissive types in his new Cybertron. Every mech and femme would get a say, would get to finally control their own fate. Stopping at the foot of the government building, he growled softly.

“Query: hesitation?” Soundwave asked softly as he stopped beside his leader.

“Incompetence must be dealt with. Let’s do what needs to be done,” Megatron declared as he strolled into the building. Delegates and officials practically fled from his path. He didn’t need any of them, he knew where he was going. Upon reaching the uppermost floor, he swung open a pair of large ornate looking doors and stepped inside the room.

Phoebus stood, his doorwings raised high, shock on his face as he glared at Megatron. “My Lord, we weren’t expecting you.”

“Of course you weren’t. If you were, you would have found my sparklings.”

“Lord Megatron, we’re doing everything we can, we have enforcers scouring the length and breadth of Praxus, stopping every transport. There’s nowhere for the breeder and his accomplice to hide.”

“Where is he taking them?” Megatron growled out, his piercing gaze boring into Phoebus who wavered slightly.

“My Lord, I do not--”

“WHERE IS HE TAKING MY SPARKLINGS?!”

“I--I…”

“Iacon, my Lord,” Scintilla spoke up. “If we’re to believe that the supposed Ambassador Meister was from Iacon, he will undoubtedly take them there.”  
Megatron clenched his fist and slammed it into the crystalline table, sending a spider web of cracks rippling across its surface. “Meister! I know that name, Soundwave!”

Soundwave stepped forward. “A known agent of Prime, special operations, sabotage, retrieval, information espionage.”

“We didn’t know…” Phoebus stammered.

“Are we not working towards the same goals?” Megatron asked as he stood and began to walk around the table. “Are we not allies?”

“Yes, of course my Lord, we didn’t think anything of I--akkk!” Phoebus was cut off and struggled as Megatron grabbed him by the throat and easily lifted him off the floor.

“You didn’t think to contact me, to ask, to take into the welfare of my sparklings, my army when an ambassador from Iacon arrives on your doorstep?”

“We didn’t want to raise suspicions,” Lightchase spoke up nervously, immediately ducking her gaze to the table when Megatron stared at her. “We had him under surveillance the whole time,” she finished with a whisper.

“Surveillance that I have since learned deactivated himself as a distraction to allow my breeder and my sparklings to escape with the spy.”

“We-- ack… didn’t… know…” Phoebus choked out, his hands gripping Megatron’s hand that held him fast.

Megatron released his grasp and watched as Phoebus dropped to the floor. He nodded to Soundwave who moved to his side and handed him an energon sword. “Do you know what the price of failure is, Phoebus?” he asked softly.

Phoebus caught sight of the large glowing blade and held up his hands in pleading and surrender. “Please, my Lord, the rest of your army is almost ready to be taken and trained as warriors, we are doing everything we can to find your sparklings but… but the army is the priority… for Kaon, for Praxus…”

Gazing at the mech with fire in his optics, Megatron nodded and raised his arm. “Indeed, for Cybertron.”

“No! Please!”

The blade flew and Lightchase screamed as Phoebus’ helm rolled across the floor. The mech’s body twitched as Megatron plunged the blade into the back of his chest, destroying the spark with one quick twist. Pulling the sword free, he turned to face the table of delegates and placed the bloodied blade in full view. “Ignorance is not acceptable. Find my sparklings! I will deal with the breeder, if I do not know where they are by the end of the cycle all of your lives will be forfeit and those that reside within this miserable pit of a city shall perish with you!” when nobody moved, the warlord straightened, his red optics glowing dangerously. “FIND THEM!”

****

Prowl started out of light recharge with a gasp, optics bright. He frowned, something was wrong. The transport suddenly lurched and he grabbed the edge of the seats he was lying on. Sitting up sharply, he noticed his sparklings recharging with Jazz on the floor of the carriage. With another lurch the carriage began to pitch and roll onto its side. “Jazz!” he cried out as he was thrown to the floor.

Jazz woke and swore, grabbing hold of the sparklings as he found himself sliding towards the rear of the transport. “Prowl!”

The transport dropped, temporarily rendering them weightless as it plummeted from the magnarail.

“Frag!” Jazz held onto the screaming sparklings tightly, curling around them protectively as he was thrown against the walls of the transport. He caught a glimpse of Prowl as they hit the ground. Jazz grunted in pain and tried to kick through a window and pushed the sparklings out. “I’ve got to get your creator. Get away from the crash, hide, I’ll find you!”

The twins, although scared, nodded and grabbed Bluestreak and ran up the silicon dune. Jazz turned back into the crumpled wreck and climbed over the ruined chairs. “Prowl!” he frowned as he made his way through the carriage. “Prowl, answer me!”

A groan sounded beneath a half crushed seat and Jazz scrambled to reach him, he tore up the seat and lifted it out of the way. Hooking his hands under Prowl’s shoulders he heaved the mech out from beneath the debris of the carriage and dragged him towards the window. “Prowl, mech, you got to wake up, come on!” he looked up sharply as the opposite door of the carriage blew open and an energon fire surged through the transport. Covering Prowl, Jazz protected his face as the ice cold flames licked at his plating, before vanishing as fast as they appeared. They didn’t have much time. “Prowl! Fraggit, the whole transport is going to blow, come on!” he slapped Prowl’s faceplates hard, almost sagging in relief when the mech reacted on instinct by grabbing his collar fairing and holding a blade to his throat. “That’s more like it, can you walk?” Jazz asked urgently.

“Yes, I think so,” Prowl uttered, subspacing his knife, grimacing as he got to his feet.

“Follow me.”

“My sparklings!”

“They’re safe, I’ll take you to them, let’s go come on!” Jazz insisted, half climbing out of the window and holding his hand out for Prowl who limped towards him. “Move it!” he yelled as the secondary carriage suddenly erupted into flames which raced towards them.

Prowl grabbed Jazz’s outstretched arm and was hauled through the window roughly. Both mechs tumbled onto the silica and quickly scrambled to their feet.

Jazz helped Prowl whose injured leg was slowing him down and practically dragged him up the steep dune. They were thrown to the ground as the transport exploded and both lay there panting. “Guess we’re walking then,” Jazz breathed, pushing to sitting, staring at the inferno below them.

Looking towards the horizon where the shimmer of the purple and blue crystals of Praxus were still visible, Prowl shook his helm. “It’s too close,” he murmured. “He’s going to find us.”

Jazz followed his gaze and pressed his mouth into a thin concerned line. He didn’t need to ask who. “Better get moving then, I know these dunes. We’ll get through this yet.”


	8. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl forces Jazz to make a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, I've sort of almost caught up with myself again. Hopefully there'll be more in a couple of weeks.

Prowl stumbled, slipping on the soft silica of the dunes. He started to slide back only to have Jazz grab his arm and help him up the last part of the slope.

“You alright?”

Nodding with a frown, Prowl looked down at his leg. “It keeps seizing,” he stated with irritation.

Jazz looked at the injury and hummed. “We’ll stop soon, I think we’re far enough away from the crash,” he peered down at the sparklings who looked tired but determined. Prowl had hold of Sunstreaker’s hand who had hold of Bluestreak’s hand tightly and Sideswipe was walking behind them, occasionally helping to push Bluestreak up the dune whenever the smaller mechlet lost his footing. Jazz couldn’t help but smile. No matter what Praxus had put them through, they were still a family. Even if they weren’t really sure how to be yet.

Reaching the peak of the dune, Jazz slid down the other side and un-holstered his blaster. Waving the others back, he fired into the side of the dune several times. The heat from the plasma weapon started to melt its way into the dune. The outer particles started to crystallise as they cooled and Jazz narrowed down the beam, carving out a hollow in the dune. Stepping back he waited and waved for Prowl and the sparklings to join him. “We’ll need to let it cool but we can rest here. Nobody will be able to see us from the trade routes or from above.”

Looking at the hole, Prowl nodded and ushered the sparklings into the makeshift shelter once the white glow faded. “Thank you for everything, Jazz, for doing this, for us. For them.”

Jazz rested a hand on Prowl’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’ll have a life after this, Prowl. You’re strong. You’ll get through this.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Prowl replied quietly, his optics gazing at the sparklings making themselves comfortable on the smooth warm crystal silicon.

Jazz nodded. “The strong ones rarely do.”

“I’m afraid. Afraid that I won’t be able to protect them. That I’ve already failed them.”

Jazz looked at Prowl with a bright visor, before following his gaze. “Mech, from where I’m standing, you’re the best creator they could have hoped for. Not many would have had the strength to stand up against everything they’ve known. You’re stronger than you realise.”

“Bluestreak is scared of me,” Prowl whispered, lowering his gaze.

“He won’t always be, mech. He won’t always be.”

****

Megatron stared out of the ornate window, his hands clasped behind him. He felt Soundwave’s presence before the communications mech announced himself. Letting out a low growl, Megatron half turned to regard his officer curiously.

“Statement: there has been a report of a cargo transport that crashed in the silica flats.”

“You better have more for me than that, Soundwave,” the warlord uttered, turning away from his third.

“The transport captain was found by our scouts. He said there were stowaways, wants to claim the reward that Phoebus declared before our arrival.”

Megatron turned fully to face Soundwave. “Bring him to me. We shall investigate his claims. Organise a search party”

Soundwave bowed his helm and exited the room quickly, issuing orders to the soldiers as he went.

Megatron leered out over Praxus. He would get back his warriors. The breeder would pay for taking what was his and his alone.

****

Jazz stiffened as he awoke from recharge, not entirely sure why he’d onlined. He gazed at the sparkling that was curled up on his chest, fast in recharge. Glancing over at Prowl he was met with the icy blue of Prowl’s optics, staring at him, bright with fear. He canted his helm questioningly at the mech, not sure why he seemed afraid. Then he heard it. A low rumbling sound. The sound of a flying transport’s engines. Jazz knew at that klik what had woken him up.

“Jazz…” Prowl whispered, shifting to sit up slightly. The silica that had blown in over the dark cycle, partly covered them and the hole. They weren’t visible from above, but if the transport was deliberately searching - which from the way it was circling the area, Prowl was certain it was - then it would be equipped with scanners. Scanners that picked up heat and spark signatures. “They’ll find us…”

Jazz held out his arm, his hand touching the other mech’s arm. Prowl looked like he was ready to bolt and Jazz knew if they ran now, they’d be dead. “They can’t see us.”

“It’s a search craft. They’re looking for us, they’ll be able to scan--”

“--Prowler, mech,” Jazz hissed urgently. “The silica will scramble their scanners as long as it doesn’t move, now keep it together,” he caught the sight of two pairs of optics staring at him dimly in the darkness. “For them…” he added softly. He squeezed Prowl’s arm reassuringly, when the mech nodded at him anxiously and smiled at the twin sparklings. “Now we’re going to play a game bitlets,” he murmured. “Let’s see who can stay the stillest and quietest for longest, no matter what you hear.”

“What if they find us?” the golden twin asked with a pout on his little face.

“Then you keep hold of your brothers’ hands and you run towards the Iron Mountains in the North and you do not stop until you get there,” Prowl spoke calmly, gently petting his sparkling’s helm fin. “You protect them, you stop only to rest and refuel and you keep running and you don’t look back, do you understand?”

Sideswipe matched his twin’s frown. “But, Creator… where do we run to after that? What if we run out of places to run?”

“You run to Iacon, little one,” Prowl stated softly, holding both twins close. “You don’t let anyone separate you.”

“And when you get there, you go to the tallest building in the city, right in the centre,” Jazz interrupted, meeting Prowl’s gaze with a smile. “And you tell them the Jazz Meister sent you.”

“Then what?” Sunstreaker asked pointedly.

“We t--tell them… ab--about… Praxus… about… the b--bad mechs.”

All optics brightened at the frightful stuttered whisper.

“Blue…” Prowl uttered in surprise, a hand hesitantly reaching out for his youngest sparkling. He withdrew it when the tiny sparkling shrank away from him, but his overly bright optics remained fixed on Prowl’s face.

Jazz grinned. “You’re a smart one, just like your creator here, Blue and yeah, he’s right, that’s what you do, you tell them all of it.”

The sparklings nodded in earnest and they held on tighter to Prowl and Jazz as the search craft came in for another search, a bright light sweeping across the ground merely inches from their makeshift cave.

“Sshhh,” Jazz whispered, putting a finger to his lips. It was a tense dark cycle. One of the longest of Jazz’s life. He let out a slow ex-vent when the silica desert finally fell silent. Carefully he crawled out of their hole and peered into the darkness. Looking back at Prowl and his sparklings, he gestured for them to stay put. He climbed up the dune and peered out across the silica flats. The transport line was visible in the distance and on the horizon there were lights of vehicles. Jazz estimated that they were at the crash sight. That was too close for his liking. They had to move. He slid back down the dune and ducked his helm into the well concealed hole that hid Prowl and the sparklings. “Alright, it’s time to move. Bluestreak, climb on my back.”

The sparkling did as he was told immediately with a trust that humbled Jazz. Prowl followed him out, a twin holding onto each hand. “Where?”

“At the crash site. We’ve got to go,” Jazz explained, almost apologetically. “We’ve got to run, are you two ready?” he asked the twins.

Sunstreaker shared a smirk with his brother. “We were the fastest.”

“Good to know,” Jazz returned his smile and glanced at Prowl’s leg. “Can you?”

Nodding tersely, Prowl gritted his denta with determination. “Just say the word.”

Turning, Jazz looked out across the silica flats, to the shadows of the iron mountains. It was a long trek. “Let’s roll out, stay low, no lights, don’t look back,” he commanded.

The small group followed Jazz’s lead and ran across the silica flats. The fine particles didn’t make running easy and their progress was painfully slow. By the time the blue light of the sun touched the horizon, the iron mountains were still painfully far away.

Jazz urged them on, taking Sideswipe in his arms when the red mechlet fell with exhaustion. He glanced back at Prowl who was carrying Sunstreaker in his arms. The Praxian didn’t look like he was faring too well himself either. His injured leg was slowing him down and he was falling behind. They needed to stop but there was no shelter. They’d left the silica flats behind shortly after dawn and were now in what was known as the badlands. It was a flat black expanse of sun scorched metal filings and failed crystals. The iron mountains loomed large and menacing before them but at their current speed, it would take them at least another cycle to reach them. Jazz stopped and looked back where they’d come, he strained to make sense of the shadows on the shimmering horizon but the sun’s light made it too hard to see clearly.

Prowl reached Jazz and stopped, his intakes panting harshly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I’m not sure.”

Prowl followed his gaze and unconsciously held a recharging Sunstreaker tighter to his chest. “We’re not going to make it, are we?”

Bowing his helm, Jazz refused to acknowledge the question. “We’ve got to keep moving, come on, let’s go,” he turned away from Prowl, only for the mech to grab his arm.

“We can’t make it, not at this speed. You can transform.”

“You can’t, Prowl, so that’s not an option.”

“Wait,” Prowl shook his helm. “You can take the sparklings when transformed, they’ll fit, you can get them to safety.”

Jazz stared at Prowl in disbelief. “And leave you behind? No fraggin’ way. Now less of this nonsense and ju--”

“--No!” Prowl snarled out, startling Sunstreaker in his arms. “Please, Jazz. I am slowing you down. You can save them. You can still make it.”

“Creator?” Sunstreaker spoke up, and for the first time since Jazz had met the sparkling, fear coloured his tone.

“And what of you?” Jazz asked with exasperation.

“I am resourceful, I will follow you.”

“And when they catch up?”

Prowl simply met Jazz’s angry glare. “You know I’m right,” he declared softly.

Cursing, Jazz tore his gaze away from Prowl and stared at the mountains. In his alt mode he could half the time it took to reach them. Prowl was right and at that klik, he hated him for it. He couldn’t look Prowl in the optic when he nodded his agreement. Helping Bluestreak off his back, he felt an ache deep in his spark when Prowl crouched down to speak to his sparklings.

“You’re leaving?” Sunstreaker asked with a deep frown on his too young face.

“No,” Prowl shook his helm. “I’m hurt, Jazz can go faster, he’ll keep you safe, you must go with him, do what he says, alright? I’ll be right behind you.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” Sideswipe pouted, looking down at the ground with dim optics, taking his twin’s hand, he held it tightly, not looking up at Prowl.

“Can you feel your spark, in here?” Prowl touched Sideswipe’s chest with a finger. The red mechlet nodded glumly. “That’s a part of me. I felt you grow, beside my own spark and when you came into this world, a part of my spark went with you. It will always be with you and therefore so will I, wherever you go. I will be with all of you,” he looked between all three sparklings and smiled warmly. “So be strong and protect each other. I will see you again.”

“...pro--promise?”

Prowl gazed with shimmering optics at the smallest, youngest sparkling. “I don’t know how long, little one, so I cannot promise a when but I can promise that I will see you again.”

Jazz watched with an aching spark as the timid Bluestreak stepped towards Prowl and hesitantly wrapped his little arms about the mech and hugged him. The twins followed suit and it nearly broke Jazz’s spark to see Prowl trying not to weep as he held his sparklings close. Unable to watch anymore, Jazz transformed and revved his engine. Throwing open a door, he waited.

Prowl looked at the vehicle in front of him and smiled. Jazz was definitely fast enough to get his sparklings to safety. “Get in,” he ordered.

The sparklings protested but they did as they were told and climbed into Jazz’s small alt mode.

Revving his engine, Jazz closed his door and hovered, he flashed his lights at Prowl just once before spinning around and speeding off towards the mountains. He let his scanners train on Prowl for as long as he could, before he vanished on the horizon.

 


	9. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small group gets separated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry short chapter this time ^^;;

Jazz reached the mountains before the sun was halfway way across the sky. He weaved and banked through the meandering mountain path and veered off into a section of hidden caves. Stopping he opened the door and the sparklings scrambled out. They all looked around nervously, intimidated by the large black menacing looking mountains. Transforming, Jazz threw the sparklings a grin. “I know they look scary but they’re going to keep you safe, follow me,” he commanded as he headed towards a small cave. The sparklings did as they were told, keeping Bluestreak protectively between them.

“In here,” Jazz gestured into the cave and pulled out a few of his rations. “These should keep you, only take one per cycle. Help is on the way.”

“How do you know?” Sideswipe demanded suspiciously.

“I asked for it,” Jazz grinned. “Don’t worry, now I have to go back, I’m going to block the entrance to this cave but my friends will know where you are, so you have to stay here.”

“You’re leaving us?” Sunstreaker frowned, glaring at Jazz.

Jazz crouched down and nodded grimly. “Your creator, he won’t make it unless I help him, do you understand? I need to go back, bring him here. I shouldn’t take more than a cycle, alright?”

The sparklings looked afraid but nodded and drew closer instinctively. “Weapon,” Sunstreaker demanded, holding out his little hand.

Visor flickering, Jazz frowned at the golden mechlet. “I don’t think so, bitlet.”

“We were trained to fight from the cycle we could walk,” Sideswipe spoke up confidently. “We can handle everything apart from large swords and blasters. We can keep Bluestreak safe if you leave us a weapon,” he threw Jazz a lopsided grin. “I prefer knives.”

“And you?” Jazz asked Sunstreaker in disbelief.

“I like my fists, but they don’t work so well against bigger mechs yet.”

Not quite believing what he was hearing, Jazz rubbed his face. “Prowl’s going to kill me,” he muttered. He pulled out two small blades and handed one each to the older sparklings. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” there was something wholly disturbing about the confident way both sparklings examined and handled the sharp blades and then looked at him with matching, dark smirks. ‘Tiny psychopaths,’ he thought to himself with a distinct relief that he’d gotten them away from Megatron. He would not have wanted to encountered these two in their adult upgrades on the battlefield. Shaking his helm at that harrowing thought, he rubbed their helms affectionately and headed for the mouth of the cave. “Stay quiet, stay safe. You’ll see me and Prowl soon.”

The three sparklings nodded in unison and watched as Jazz fired above the mouth of the cave and let a cascade of metallic rocks fall in front, disguising the entrance and trapping them inside. Bluestreak whimpered when the light faded and curled up near the rations of fuel. The twins didn’t know how to comfort their brother and so simply sat closely on either side of him, their gazes drawn to the cave entrance until recharge claimed them all.

****

Prowl forced himself to keep walking despite his exhaustion. He occasionally sipped from his one ration and chanced a look behind. His spark skipped several pulses at the sight of searching ground vehicles and fliers in the distance. Their silhouettes had become more defined over the course of the cycle which meant they were gaining on him.

Unconsciously he broke into a slow run. He had to find shelter, he had to hide. The loose metal filings that coated the ground, stuck to his plating. Their slight magnetic properties gave Prowl hope that his energy signature would somehow be disrupted or masked. The black colour also proved to be useful camouflage. He grabbed handfuls and pressed them to the white parts of his frame, hoping to blend in against the black expanse of the badlands.

With his energy reserves at their lowest, though, Prowl knew he had to stop soon. Scanning the landscape for anything that could provide shelter, he was immediately distracted by the sound of an engine in the distance. Stopping, he listened hard but couldn’t tell from which direction the sound was coming. Fearful that he would be seen, Prowl forced himself into a lumbering sprint, his injured leg protesting against the strain. The sound grew louder and Prowl looked behind him, spotting the scanner drone in the sky. It whooshed over him at such speed, Prowl threw himself to the ground and lay still, his spark pulsing hard in his chest. He didn’t dare move while the scanner probed the area and silently prayed to Primus that his signature hadn’t been detected. The scanner passed back over the way it came and Prowl scrambled to his feet and broke into a run. He stumbled several times thanks to his leg but he had to get out of the search perimeter. The drone would return and with enough scans, he would be discovered. He aimed for an uneven patch of the badlands some distance ahead of him. Shards of metal pierced the ground and crevices scarred the surface. If nothing else there would be some places to hide.

The drone came back sooner than he’d expected and in his surprise, Prowl tripped and fell down a slope. Metal shards ripped into his plating, tearing a pained cry from his vocaliser as he tumbled helm first, unable to get a grip on the slippery, constantly shifting surface. His intakes stalled as his momentum flung him off the edge of a crevasse. Prowl felt briefly weightless as he fell. He landed on a ledge a few meters down, hard on his back, jarring one of his sensor panels so badly that it sent a shockwave of pain throughout his entire body. Groaning, Prowl tried to move only to fall back onto his back with a grunt. He wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. He watched with dim optics - silently grateful to be covered in black shards of magnetic metal filings - the drone pause above him and scan, before it moved on and the sound faded.

‘This is where I’m going to deactivate,’ Prowl thought grimly, sadness and remorse filling his spark as he pulled up the memory file of his sparklings playing in the bathtub in Jazz’s hotel room, before it too faded, along with the last shreds of Prowl’s conscious thought.

****

Jazz raced as fast as he could over the unforgiving terrain. The locator beacon he’d pinned on Prowl was still active which was a good sign. He had made sure it monitored his vitals. If Prowl deactivated, then so would the beacon. As cold as it was, Jazz knew he didn’t have the time to collect a deactivated shell. Getting the sparklings to safety was now the priority. That and the two oldest sparklings were more than capable of telling his boss what Praxus was up to and with whom. Picking up other energy signatures on his scanner, Jazz picked up his pace and after a short while, skidded to a halt and transformed, quickly hiding himself behind a large iron shard, jutting out from Cybetron’s core.

Switching to stealth mode, his visor glowed a dim green and he peered towards the moving lights. “Megatron,” he growled softly as he spotted the Kaonite exiting his large private transport. Megatron’s party had stopped for a reason. They were investigating a crevice etched into the ground, it was difficult to see in the dimming light of the fast approaching dark cycle. Jazz quickly ducked back behind the metal when the sharp red visor of Soundwave looked his way. If there was one mech that could pick him up at this distance, it would be Soundwave.

When none of the mech’s renowned cassettes appeared, Jazz vented air slowly and stole another glance at the scene unfolding before him. His mouth dropped at the sight of an extremely tall mech, it was knelt on the ground and reaching into the crevice with a hand bigger than a mech. “Frag me sideways,” Jazz uttered in disbelief. “The slagger has a pit-spawned gestalt.” Quickshot needed to know about this. Prime definitely needed to know about this. If Megatron had managed to get a gestalt that meant the mech was only after one thing. War.

Frowning, Jazz zoomed in his optics as the gestalt mech lifted something from the ground and placed it on a grav-sled. “Oh no,” Jazz’s spark sank as he recognised the familiar shape of Praxian doorwings. He watched helplessly as the grav-sled was escorted by Soundwave onto Megatron’s own transport. Checking the beacon’s readings again, Jazz cursed. Prowl was still very much alive and now in the hands of Megatron. Jazz wasn’t certain how long the mech would stay alive. He glanced back the way he had come, trying to decide the best course of action. Trying to rescue Prowl would be a suicide mission and Jazz really didn’t fancy deactivating any time soon. Plus there was the sparklings to think about and getting them to Quickshot and making his report to Prime. Currently he was the only one from Iacon who knew anything about the gestalt.

Jazz knew he had no choice. Resting his helm against the cool iron shard, Jazz turned off the beacon’s output readings and transformed.

 

****

Slowly rebooting, Prowl felt inexplicably better. Even his doorwing, which he had definitely dislocated in his fall, no longer hurt. Onlining his optics, he was met with a polished metal ceiling. Sitting up quickly, he found himself on a larger than average berth, plush and comfortable. His spark pulsed wildly. Had he been rescued? Had Jazz found him? Was this Iacon? All the questions raced through his processor faster than most mechs would be able to process and he quickly got off the berth and dashed to the door. He looked down at his leg, it wasn’t damaged. A small smile tugged at his mouth as hope and relief surged through him. He had been rescued! His hand curled around the door to pull it open, only to find it locked. His relief and hope faded slightly and then slowly morphed into dread as he looked around the room he was in.

The gladiator trophies, image captures of mine workers, Kaonites. He whirled around as he stood in the centre of the room to find a large purple symbol adorning the wall adjacent to the berth. His optics brightened with terror and panic. Decepticon. This was not Iacon. “No,” he whispered, distraught. His doorwings twitched and he turned around to face the door as he heard the distinct sound of it unlocking. This was his only chance. He charged for the door as soon as it opened and launched himself at whoever was on the other side.

He snarled as he was deflected easily and grabbed around the middle with a large strong arm, that held him fast. “You are much feistier than I remember you being.”

Prowl stilled at the voice, unable to free himself as he was carried back into the room. His prison. He started to struggle when he realised they were heading back toward the berth. His fierce optics met the passive gaze of a red visor. The blue mech simply stood in the doorway and watched. “I am not your slave!” he growled out, struggling with his captor.

“Now that’s just enough of that,” the deep tenor commanded, dumping Prowl unceremoniously back on the berth.

Prowl scrambled back as the warlord loomed over him, his ruby optics glinting as a smirk tugged at his mouth. “I am no pleasure mech,” he spat out angrily.

“That you are not, breeder, despite how good at it you might be,” Megatron replied with vague amusement. “Now we have something to talk about.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s where you are wrong, Praxian,” he glanced at Soundwave at the doorway and nodded. “You are not needed for this,” he waited until his officer left and locked the door behind him. His gaze returned to Prowl and he smiled. “You took something from me, something very valuable and I want it back.”


	10. Stowaways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz puts his plan to effect. Not everything goes accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait ^^;; I hope it's worth it!
> 
> //comm speak//

The giant blue star was already high in the sky when Jazz reached the Iron Mountains. He retraced his steps and one by one peeled away the boulders that were keeping the sparklings hidden. He peered inside the dark cave with a smile as three pairs of optics stared back at him. “Hey there, bitlets, are we ready to move?”

Sunstreaker frowned and glanced at his twin as he got to his feet and headed towards Jazz, looking around expectantly. Sideswipe followed close behind. Bluestreak excitedly dashed to Jazz and hugged his leg, his little winglets fluttering as he gazed up at him. He only held Jazz’s gaze for a klik before he let go and started looking around, a small frown creasing his faceplates. He looked back at Jazz with bright, fearful optics. “Cre--creter?”

“Blue I--”

“He wants to know where our creator is,” Sunstreaker interrupted, putting his arm around his now whimpering younger brother.

“He’s--”

“He’s not deactivated,” Sideswipe blurted out. His little hand touched his chest. “We would feel it. He’s alive. Where is he?”

Crouching down, Jazz’s visor dimmed as he gazed at them. There was no use lying to them. “You’re right. He’s not deactivated but he has been captured by your… by Megatron. There’s no way I--”

“--Rescue him.” Sunstreaker demanded hotly.

“Yeah that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Sideswipe added with a frown.

“It’s not that easy. I’m outnumbered, he’s probably expecting somebot to try. They’ll have Prowl guarded and they’ll use him to find you and I can’t let that happen. I promised Prowl I would get you safe and that’s what I’m going to do. So c’mon,” he pushed to his feet, his gaze and tone stern. “Let’s get moving before we’re discovered.” He turned on his heel making a show of marching away from the sparklings towards the nearby path.

“N--NO!” Bluestreak hollered as loud as his under developed vocaliser would allow. “No--not, without… cre-creter.”

Jazz offlined his optics and vented air through his systems. It should not be this difficult but here he was. The Meister, being argued down by three stubborn aft, if dangerous sparklings. He turned around and his resolve practically shattered into pieces when he saw them still rooted to the spot, their gazes equally angry, hopeful and close to tears. They were so young.

“We’re not leaving without him,” Sunstreaker stated defiantly, despite the wobble in his young voice.

Sideswipe nodded and took hold of Bluestreak’s hand. “We’ll go back for him. He would do it for us.”

“Well of course he fraggin’ would!” Jazz exclaimed in exasperation. He stomped back over to them and plopped himself in front of them. “He’s your creator, he would always go back for you but you’re sparklings! What can you do? You’ll get yourself killed!” he tried to reason with them desperately, the clock was ticking.

“We can fight.”

“We were trained to sneak around too,” Sideswipe added.

“Hi--hide in small, pla--places…” Bluestreak added timidly.

Jazz stared with disbelief at the three sparklings. They were deadly serious and he knew there was no way he could force them to leave without having to carry them all, which was simply unfeasible. Then, his processor dwelling on Bluestreak’s words, a crazy idea ran through his processor. “Can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” he sighed. “Your creator is going to kill me.”

“We go back,” Sunstreaker reiterated with determination in his too young a voice.

Jazz nodded with resignation. “We go back.”

****

Soundwave stood outside the door as Megatron exited. “Interrogation: Successful?” He asked.

Megatron gave him a look. “What do you think?” He uttered darkly. “Get someone to clean the mess up and see that he is fuelled and rested. “If he will not return my creations to me, then I can always make more.”

Soundwave canted his helm at his leader. “Query: the timescale for your plans is short.”

“And that’s why we have Shockwave and his wonderfully twisted processor. He has found a way to speed up the growth of sparklings without straining the spark too much. It is being tested on the first shipment from Praxus but it is a last resort for my progeny,” he placed a hand on Soundwave’s shoulder. “They are out there, Soundwave and we will find them.”  
“Understood, my Lord,” Soundwave bowed his helm and waited for Megatron to leave. He hesitated before entering his leader’s private living area. He had advised against holding the prisoner there but Megatron had insisted. He stepped inside and impassively looked over the scene before him. Megatron’s methods were unorthodox yet usually effective. His red visor met the defiant bright optics of the Praxian they had both underestimated.

****

Jazz crouched down, his powerful visor zooming in on Megatron’s convoy. It had travelled closer to the Iron Mountains since he had seen them take Prowl and now they were in a part of the iron plains that offered little to no shelter if they were attacked. It would leave escaping from the warlord difficult, especially with the three vulnerable, if brave, sparklings in tow. Jazz wasn’t really certain what he was going to do but he silently prayed to Primus that Quickshot had gotten his encrypted message. Full backup was unlikely but even just one agent sent in to help would increase their chances ten fold.

“Is he in there?” Sunstreaker asked darkly, his optics focused on the largest ship in the convoy.

Jazz glanced down at the golden youngling by his side and followed his gaze. “I think so, I’m not sure.”

“Is he still alive?” Sideswipe asked on Jazz’s other side.

Jazz sighed. He had resisted reactivating the tracker out of fear of what it would tell him but all this would be futile if he had indeed been deactivated. He accessed the tracker and switched it on, tensing as the readouts updated. “He’s alive,” he stated with some relief. “All levels are optimum,” he added with no small amount of surprise. A prisoner of Megatron generally suffered greatly before they were killed but Prowl’s readouts showed no signs of suffering, it made Jazz frown, uncertain of what it meant.

“D--do we n--need to go in th-there?” Bluestreak stammered nervously, staring up at the large behemoth ships with wide optics.

“That’s where your creator is,” Jazz stated with resignation. “Now listen to me carefully, all of you. This is what’s going to happen, you’re going to follow my orders no matter what, do you understand?”

The twins shared a glance and nodded with Bluestreak, who clutched onto Jazz’s hand fearfully.

****

With his stealth mode activated, Jazz crept through the ship cautiously. His disguise was basic and temporary. At first glance he would appear to be a Decepticon but if anyone stopped him for longer than a few kliks they would figure out pretty quickly he wasn't one of them. He hated that disguises like this were necessary. The Decepticons had grown in force and numbers under the fierce leadership of Megatron. They had risen up to defy and challenge the council to change policies giving rights to certain classes over others. While Jazz agreed with their cause, their methods left much to be desired.

He kept his helm down when a couple of mechs passed him and he ducked into a service corridor before they had chance to double take. Stilling for a few kliks Jazz accessed the tracker. Prowl was being held right next to the command deck, in which Jazz could only assume was Megatron’s private rooms. That would make extraction harder and if discovered he would be delivering the sparklings right into his hands. There was no room for hesitation, Jazz continued on his way, deciding to use the service shafts on the way to the top most deck. His thoughts drifted to the sparklings, being so young they did not yet have functioning comms and he hoped they were following his instructions and then getting to safety.

****

"Are you ready?" Sunstreaker hissed to the storm grey sparkling trembling beside him.

"I... I'm scared," Bluestreak whispered.

"So are we but I bet creator is even scareder so we need to help him right?" Sideswipe replied, peering into the large engine room.

"Right," Bluestreak uttered resolutely.

"Go now, we'll protect you," Sunstreaker urged.

Despite his fear, Bluestreak stepped out and tottered into the middle of the room, his little winglets twitching nervously. Nobody noticed him at first until one mech stepped back and nearly tripped over him. Bluestreak yelped and darted under a console.

"Mechs I think we've got a stowaway," the copter called out, waving over the other mechs. "One of those sparklings from the shipment we picked up in Praxus."

"How the frag did it get all the way up here?" Torque uttered, disliking any unauthorised personnel in his engine room.

The first mech shrugged. "It looked tiny, and it's good at hiding," he pointed and crouched down. "It's under here. Hey there bitlet, this is dangerous. Let's get you to a safe place, come on, don't be scared, we won't hurt you."

Torque crouched down beside the first mech. "Vortex are you sure? I heard the Praxians trained them to be killers..."

"It's just a fraggin' sparkling you glitch, what the frag can it do to us?" Vortex growled impatiently. "Barricade get over here, give me one of those rust sticks you're always eating," he waved over the third mech.

The twins crept through the door and raced to the main engine console in the centre of the room while the three mechs were distracted, with rust sticks in hand trying to coax Bluestreak out from under the console.

Peering at the three imposing mechs, Bluestreak cautiously crept closer and reached out for the rust stick.

"There you go, nothing to be afraid of," Vortex coaxed gently. He was loyal to Megatron and had done things in his name that would make most mechs recoil in horror but he drew the line at sparklings. He didn't agree with Megatron's Praxian grown army but he wanted to see the council and the high classes of Iacon fall more than he was compelled to speak out against his leader. "That's it, not going to hurt you," he urged waving the rust stick a little.

Shifting out from under the console Bluestreak's tiny hand clutched the rust stick and Vortex used it to tug him closer and grab hold of him. Bluestreak squealed with fear as he was grabbed but Vortex held him fast.

"Frag he's terrified, what did they do to him in that city?" Barricade frowned. "Pet him between his winglets I heard that's supposed to relax Praxians."

Vortex did as was suggested and Bluestreak stilled his struggle. He still whimpered and sucked on the rust stick nervously but the gentle pets soothed him in a way he only vaguely remembered feeling before.

Vortex canted his helm at the tiny sparkling and smirked. "You heard huh?" He gave Barricade a look which the other mech just shrugged off nonchalantly. “You like that bitlet?” He spoke gently to Bluestreak who peered at him curiously with bright optics. “Do you have a name?”

“What you think they named them before shipping them off to fight?” Barricade scoffed.

“B--Blue….” Bluestreak whispered softly, giving them the name Jazz had called him a few times.

“Blue, how did you get on the ship?” Vortex asked. “We should probably tell Soundwave,” he added to the other mechs who nodded in agreement.

“Especially as they’re still looking for Megatron’s spawn,” Barricade replied.

Vortex nodded. “Maybe this little one can help, he might know what they look like at least.”

The three mechs froze when the engine room was suddenly plunged into darkness. Only the light from their optics cast an eerie red glow onto their plating. “What the frag?” Barricade uttered.

The engine stuttered and groaned before shuddering to a grinding halt, plunging the rest of the ship into darkness too. “Sabotage,” Vortex hissed angrily.

Barricade whirled around and swore, switching on his lights to high beams. “‘The frag?”

“What?”

“I could have sworn I saw something, over there by the console,” he drew his weapon.

Torque groaned. “Please, don’t shoot the engine, we’re already going to be in enough trouble as it is,” he rushed over before Barricade could do something they’d regret and began to try and fix the problem. “It’s just a blown relay, I can fix this,” he called back. Switching on his own headlights, he grabbed some tools and crawled under the console.

Barricade watched and tensed up when the other mech suddenly cried out and his legs shook and scrambled on the floor, fighting for purchase. “What is it? What the frag!?” He shouted, confused and scared as the mech let out a garbled choking sound. A flash of light lit up the underneath of the console before vanishing out of existence. “Optics!” Barricade hollered and fired his weapon repeatedly, wildly.

Vortex knew that flash of light. He had seen it before. It was the flash of a dying spark. Carefully he put Blue down on the nearest console and quietly drew out his own weapon. “Wait here, don’t make a sound,” he whispered. He crept over following Barricade who was becoming increasingly agitated. “Calm down!” Vortex commanded. Crouching he could tell their comrade was dead. His main energon line had been cut and his spark had been run through. Crude but effective. “We know you’re in there!” He called out loudly. “You’re surrounded and more armed mechs are on their way! Surrender now!” //Vortex to Soundwave.//

//Go ahead.//

//We have intruders. And a sparkling stowaway. Engine room. One deactivation.//

//instruction: bring sparkling to me. Query: Intruders responsible for power loss?//

//I’d bet on it.//

//Gambling: not permitted. Reinforcements enroute.//

Vortex rolled his optics behind his visor at Soundwave taking his words literally, as always. “Show yourselves!” He ordered, hoping those reinforcements would be in time.

****

Jazz froze mid climb when all the lights went out abruptly and the low thrum of the powerful engine died. He didn't want to switch to his own lights in case he was detected. Looking up he sighed, four more levels to climb. Switching his visor to infra red, Jazz continued up with a huff. "Be an easy mission they said. Just fact finding. In and out they said. My shiny aft," he grumbled quietly. "Quickshot owes me all the high grade and leave after this."

Voices erupted above him and Jazz's keen audio picked up the words 'intruder' and 'sparkling' and fear gripped his spark. Their instructions were to cut power and then get out but knowing the twins' eagerness to help, Jazz had strong doubts about them following that plan. Prowl was going to kill him for sure. If Megatron didn't beat him to it.

Climbing up higher, Jazz shot up his grappling hook and kicked off the wall when it was secure. He swung like a pendulum and pushed off the other wall, aiming for a vent grill. Kicking it a few times, the grill buckled and Jazz slid through the shaft, releasing his hook and almost toppling over the edge and to his deactivation at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Hanging on with one hand, Jazz looked up spying the elevator above him. He shot his grappling hook once more and zoomed up towards it, when the elevator suddenly activated. Jazz swore as he hit the bottom of the descending elevator and held on tight as it accelerated down. Peering up through the fine grill plating, he saw two blue legs and four black ones. Soundwave and his symbiote Ravage, Jazz held his field in tight and activated secondary firewalls in his processor. Soundwave's reputation preceded him, the mech was called a telepath but Jazz knew it was much more complicated than that. The mech was a code reader. He could pick up the infinitesimally small signals of code that a mech's processor nanites produced, it was an invasion of privacy and highly illegal as a result but that hadn't stopped Megatron from ordering Soundwave to put that particular set of skills to use. Standard firewalls didn't shield them but Jazz had a friend, Blaster, who was also a code reader and had helped Jazz get the illegal firewall upgrades.

Keeping as still as possible, Jazz vented a sigh of relief when Soundwave stepped out. Jazz waited a few more kliks and then pushed up the metal grating and climbed up into the elevator. He pushed the button to take him back up to the command deck. He was going to have to be quick when he got there or it was game over.

The doors swished open when the elevator arrived and Megatron turned, surprised to see the elevator empty. "Someone get Scrapper up here to fix that glitched elevator, that's the second time it's done that," he ordered.   
"Yes, Lord Megatron."

Frowning at the report from Soundwave regarding the power failure, Megatron growled with irritation and glared out across the Iron desert. His warriors, his creations were out there and Soundwave had had no luck getting through Prowl's surprisingly powerful processor. It was time to make the Praxian talk one way or the other. He headed into his private quarters and locked the door behind him.


	11. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has a choice to make, give up Jazz or the sparklings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates are slow. Two jobs plus studying, makes for a tired Wicked. Enjoy!

"Did you hear that?" Barricade whirled around waving his weapon wildly. "Something moved," he hissed gesturing behind Vortex. With the generator lights flickering it was difficult to see.

"Frag, it's just the sparkling. He's run off," Vortex growled, the tendrils of suspicion beginning to curl around his spark.

Both mechs spun around at the sound of scuttling behind them, their lights casting long shadows across the dimly lit engine room. "What the frag?" Vortex cursed as he caught sight of a tiny mech ducking out of sight underneath a console.

"Another fragging sparkling?" Barricade demanded hotly. "What the frag is going on?"

"Sabotage," Soundwave stated blandly as he entered the engine room. "Ravage: search."

The cassetticon did as ordered and stalked through the engine room, disappearing under the console Vortex had seen the bitlet. Ravage's head reappeared. "Vents," she snarled.

"Soundwave to Megatron. We have stowaways. Confirmed one sparkling possibly more."

Vortex observed silently as Soundwave's visor brightened then dimmed a fraction.

"Understood."

"Orders?" Vortex asked simply.

"Organise teams. Find the sparklings. Do not harm them."

"Find the sparklings! Have you seen what they did?" Barricade pulled out the greyed out shell of Torque. "Sparklings couldn't have done this!"

"Correction: not just any sparklings. Megatron's sparklings more than capable. Files state they're already being trained as warriors."

"And you want us not to harm them!?" Barricade demanded with incredulous disbelief.

"Affirmative. Vortex; you have your orders, I will initiate search from upper decks," Soundwave finished before sweeping out of the engine room.

Vortex frowned and jogged after Soundwave. "But Sir, the sparkling we found he was no warrior. He was scared, it doesn't make sense."

"Third sparkling considered: defective," Soundwave stopped, regarding Vortex coolly.

"And if we catch him?"

"Warriors will learn from Lord Megatron and be an asset to our cause."

"But if we catch him?" Vortex repeated tersely.

Soundwave glanced at Ravage. "He will join his Praxian creator and be put to use in any capacity Lord Megatron deems fit."

Vortex internally balked at that. Nobody had seen the Praxian since he'd been brought on board but there had been rumours of sounds coming from Megatron's private rooms. "Understood, Sir," he answered softly.

Soundwave regarded him critically for a klik before continuing on his way.

"If he helps the sparkling?" Ravage asked, sensing Soundwave's thoughts.

"A mech's sentiments are his own, Ravage. I will not attempt to suade his spark otherwise. He is a smart mech. He knows the consequences Megatron will bestow if he is caught. Vortex will do what he feels he must. I will not stand in his way."

Ravage rumbled her agreement as she padded silently beside Soundwave, silently glad his spark hadn't become twisted as so many others had under Megatron's powerful leadership. She chirred affectionately as Soundwave's fingers lightly scritched her helm between her ears, as though reassuring her from her well founded concerns.

****

Jazz cautiously crawled through the vents he’d squeezed his frame into, trying not to make any noise. It was painfully slow going but he finally reached his destination. Before the elevator had arrived at the main deck, Jazz had climbed up through the top of the elevator and slipped into the ventilation shaft just above it. He’d already found the main deck and watched Megatron disappear into his quarters. It was the only place Prowl could be. Transport ships like this did not have cells and Megatron would not have trusted his prize to anyone else’s keeping. Peering through the vent, he switched his systems to stealth mode.

Prowl heard the door open and watched Megatron as he approached the berth. After an escape attempt where Megatron's medic had almost been killed, Prowl had been placed in stasis cuffs. They were set on the highest setting so he could not move even if he wanted to. He still glared defiantly at the warlord, even now. He had refused to tell them anything, not even the direction he’d seen Jazz take his sparklings. Megatron had only limited patience and when his gentlest methods had failed, he’d sent in Soundwave. Prowl had remembered the agony as the mech had scoured through his processor using his own nanites. Praxian enforcers however, and Prowl had been an enforcer first, had more processor protections than most and Soundwave had suffered a feedback that had given him a blinding processor ache for several cycles after. It had been then that Megatron had unleashed his frustration on him. First it had been the furious, brutal beatings which had then led to more. The forced spark merges had been the worst part. He knew each one was causing further damage to his already scarred spark.

His physical injuries had always been repaired afterward, which left Prowl confused but he refused to break regardless. The startling mood swings of the warlord were processor jarring and Prowl had given up trying to guess what was to happen next. Bracing himself he simply stared at Megatron blandly as the mech loomed over him.

“It seems the tides are turning,” Megatron stated with a predatory smile as he sat on the edge of the berth, trailing a finger over a scar in Prowl’s sensor panel. “Have you considered my offer, Prowl?” He rumbled, canting his helm at the Praxian. “You have an incredible processor and hand to hand combat skills I doubt even your handlers were aware of. We would be a formidable team, your assets would never again be underappreciated nor underestimated and you would have my protection.”

Prowl had heard his promises before. Part of him yearned for that sort of acceptance but he did not trust this mech. Especially not with his sparklings. Not after seeing how explosive Megatron’s anger really was.

At Prowl’s resounding silence, Megatron chuckled and leaned in, grabbing Prowl’s face and forcing him to look at him. “No matter,” he pressed a fierce possessive kiss to Prowl’s mouth. “We will be a family, despite your resistance. It appears as though your sparklings have returned to me of their own accord.”

That got Prowl’s attention. “You’re lying,” he hissed.

“Why would I lie about that?” Megatron ran his glossa along Prowl’s lower lip. “Did you really think that you could trust that Iaconian to take care of sparklings? He is an agent of Prime, a spy, a saboteur… a killer, and you are his evidence. You are what he wants to get back to his leaders, not them, they are merely collateral.”

“He wouldn’t…” Prowl answered but his voice wavered. He did not really know the mech, Jazz.

“Don’t believe me?” Megatron straightened and stood, walking over to his monitor. “See for yourself, Soundwave sent me this surveillance footage of our engine room before the power went out,” he swivelled the screen so Prowl could see.

Prowl’s optics brightened as the image showed a tiny sparkling tottering into the engine room before disappearing under a console with three mechs following him. “Blue… No…” he whispered, fear stabbing through his spark.

“Now that I’ve shattered your delusions of trust in that stranger, how about we talk hm?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” he snapped angrily.

Megatron’s temper got the better of him and cleared the distance between them in barely a second. Lifting Prowl easily off the berth by a sensor panel, he roared. “You will do as I say or you will suffer a far worse fate than that meddling friend of yours, do you understand me!?” He flung Prowl against the far wall, where the mech landed with a sickening crunch and a pained cry. “Besides,” Megatron glowered as he approached him. “The files declare the small sparkling to be defective so if you don’t want me to tear him apart with my bare hands in front of your optics, I suggest you start accepting my generous offer.”

Prowl stared up at Megatron fearfully, not doubting for a klik that the mech would carry out his threat. His optics dimmed and he averted his gaze submissively, sending out a glyph of cooperation through his field.

Megatron smirked. “That’s more like it, now, I would like a name for the mech I am going to mount on my wall.”

Megatron would have to get in line, Prowl was going to murder Jazz for putting his sparklings in further danger. “Jazz… his name is Jazz…”

****

 


	12. Developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Have a lot going on.

Prowl lay on the berth dejected and yet simultaneously furious. He was comforted by the knowledge that Megatron at least wanted his sparklings alive. He hated that he'd been put into this situation. He would rather offline his sparklings and himself rather than subject themselves to a life with the warlord. A noise caught his attention and he frowned, glancing around the room. His intakes hitched as he watched Jazz's lithe frame sliding out of a vent and to the floor, with all the grace and stealth of a cybercat.

"Prowl, it's alright mech, going to get you out of here," Jazz reassured, mistaking Prowl's silence for shock. He undid the cuffs and helped Prowl to stand. "How's that? How you feeling?" He asked hesitantly, having witnessed what Megatron did when he wasn't angry. He could only imagine the hell Prowl had been through.

The strike came fast and hard and Jazz found himself on his aft with energon dribbling from fractured faceplates. Prowl stood over him, glaring, fists clenched, his face like the spawn of Unicron. "Alright. I deserved that."

"You're fragging right you did! What were you thinking bringing my sparklings here! I trusted them to your care!" Prowl raged.

"And they weren't going anywhere without you," Jazz retorted getting to his feet. "And knowing what those twins are capable of I didn't fancy getting in their way. They were coming for you with or without me and I figured with me was their best shot!"

"Of all the irresponsible, unconscionable things... they're sparklings! You just pick them up and carry them to safety," Prowl argued.

"Yeah and get my energon lines cut for my trouble and get left to bleed out here in this slag pile of a desert. No thanks," Jazz countered. "You can hate me later, mech but right now we're on borrowed time. You won't fit in the vent so unless you got any other bright ideas, we're going to have to fight our way out."

"That's your plan?" Prowl scoffed. "You really do have a death wish."

"As I said, any better ideas?"

Prowl scowled in thought. "The medic should be here soon to check on me. If you knock me out, make it look like my injuries are more severe then he'll have to take me to medbay."

"Nope. Need you conscious."

"My sensor panel then, Megatron managed to partially dislocate it, if you pull it free entirely it'll be an injury he won't be able to fix here," Prowl explained.

Jazz looked dubious. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Now quickly," Prowl headed back to the berth.

Jazz moved closer and frowned. "Is this going to hurt?"

"Like the pits just do it."

Nodding Jazz curled his hands about the edges of the appendage and wrenched hard. Prowl's scream filled the room and Jazz's visor went bright at the sound. Hearing the door he murmured an apology and disappeared back up into the vent.

Hook entered quickly and swore as he went to Prowl's side. "Frag I told him not to go for the sensor panels, does he listen to me?"

//Hook to Megatron. Your guest is severely injured. I'm taking him to medbay.// he cut comms before Megatron could reply and administered a pain relief for Prowl. "Come on Let's get you some proper care," he helped a trembling Prowl to his feet and guided him to the door.

Jazz watched and quickly made his way to the elevator and waited. Following without being seen wasn't going to be easy but he was not going to leave Prowl now that he'd found him. They were all getting off this ship, if it killed him.

****

Bluestreak was terrified but he kept moving. The cons were looking for him but his brothers had told him not to wait for them. He followed his spark feeling his creator nearby. The sense felt weird like a tug he had to obey. At least he was small enough to hide in the circuitry of the ship. Crawling and climbing over wires carefully, he froze when he heard voices above him.

Hook got Prowl to lie on his front on the berth as gently as he could. He'd administered a little too much pain relief, not really knowing how fast Praxians assimilated chemicals into their energon stream. Prowl was sluggish and barely responsive, the way Hook had recommended he be kept to ensure compliance. Megatron's need for dominance however had resulted in Prowl almost killing Hook in an attempt to escape, not that he could blame the mech.

"Hold still, this is going to hurt," Hook warned. He gripped the sensor panel and in one quick motion had pulled and pushed the appendage back into place.

Beneath the floor Bluestreak covered his mouth to hide his whimper but he couldn't prevent the instinctual urge to run to his creator when Prowl cried out in pain.

Hook swore and jumped back as the tiny sparkling ran under his feet and climbed onto the berth, throwing himself over Prowl's back protectively. "I won't let you hurt him!" His little voice hollered.

Creator protocols kicking in, Prowl shifted and curled an arm around Bluestreak, his optics glaring at Hook fiercely.

"The frag is this?" Hook exclaimed.

Jazz dropped down from the ceiling vent and pointed his weapon at the medic. "Give me a reason."

"Well you might as well shoot now, you've pretty much signed my death warrant," Hook retorted.

"Lock the door," Jazz demanded, moving closer to the pair sharing a touching reunion on the berth.

Prowl met Jazz's gaze and smiled meekly at him, still unfocused and bleary thanks to his pain relief. Bluestreak was pressed to his chest, tiny fingers clutching onto him for dear life, his tiny sensor panels quivering with his soft sobs.

Hook frowned as he approached the berth. "He's quite anxious isn't he?"

"Watch it," Jazz growled, reaiming his gun at the con.

"Oh please, put that down, I'm a medic first in this medbay and I would never hurt a sparkling no matter where I was," Hook looked at Prowl. "The way he protected you just now is remarkable. Sparklings are driven by an instinct of self preservation, he should not have been able to do that. His sensitivity and emotional awareness are the cause of his excessive anxiety."

Prowl looked at Bluestreak and back up at Hook. “Is this bad? Can he be helped?”

Hook gave a helpless shrug. “With time, monitoring and being close to his creator until his spark has settled,” he frowned and looked between Prowl and Jazz, his voice quiet. “He won’t survive in Megatron’s army… I’ve seen what the other sparklings are made to do… what they become…” he trailed off and shook his helm. “He will never be like that, no matter how much training is forced upon him.”

Jazz scoffed. “Tell us something we don’t know, mech,” touching Prowl’s arm his tone became urgent. “We’ve got to go now or it won’t just be Blue’s survival we need to worry about.”

“My brothers…” Bluestreak peered up at Jazz with large bright optics. “We can’t leave them.”

“Nobody is being left behind, little Blue,” Jazz soothed gently. “Do you know where they are?”

Bluestreak dismally shook his helm. “They told me to run, don’t look back. They said they’d follow when they were finished.”

“Where was that?”

“The big, loud room.”

“That’s probably the engine room, which would explain the power outage,” Hook answered. “Soundwave has everyone searching every deck up from there now.”

Prowl looked stricken and met Jazz’s gaze. “I won’t leave without them.”

“I know, mech,” Jazz replied, at a loss of what to suggest. They were trapped on an enemy ship with enemies all around them and no hope of getting out without being caught and no way to find the twins.

“I um… I think I might be able to help…” Hook offered meekly. He gave them a wan smile when two pairs of optics and a visor all focused on him intently. “Don’t look so surprised. I already said I don’t hurt sparklings and seeing as Megatron’s going to kill me anyway because he’ll never believe I’m not involved somehow, might as well be killed for the right reasons. Right?”

Jazz shared an uncertain look with Prowl but with options limited; the Praxian glanced back at Hook. “We’re listening.”

****

“Do you think Blue made it?”

The golden mechlet shrugged and casually wiped energon from his small yet effective dagger. “He’s good at hiding. Had lots of practise. As long as he hasn't panicked they won't find him.”

Sideswipe nodded his helm in agreement. “I think we might deactivate on this ship, Sunny, we're trapped. That big blue one has mechs everywhere.”

Glancing at his twin, Sunstreaker reached out and took hold of his hand. “Together,” he replied simply, with a maturity that belied his short vorns.

Giving his brother a grin, Sideswipe squeezed his hand and nodded. “Together.”

“Well isn't that sweet? What do you think bro?” Rumble drawled.

Frenzy sneered at the two sparklings and his weapon whined with charge as it was armed. “Sickening. Know what's sweeter? What Soundwave and Megatron are going to do to you. Now on your feet. Move scraplets!” he gestured with his weapon.

The twins spared each other a glance but did as they were told. They'd been trained for situations like these since they could walk and showed no fear despite the cassetticons standing at least a head taller than them.

“Drop the knife,” Rumble ordered. //Boss? Yeah we got them. Got it. See you soon.//

Frenzy glanced at his brother. “He coming?”

“Yeah. He'll be here in a few kliks. I said drop it!” Rumble glared at the defiant mechlet.

Sunstreaker made a show of dangling the knife before dropping it to the floor.

“Think you're so good huh? Cocky little glitches,” Frenzy raised his weapon and slammed the butt of it into the side of Sideswipe's helm.

With a cry of pain, Sideswipe dropped to the floor.

“Not so big now are ya?!” Frenzy yelled with a sadistic smirk back at Rumble.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Sideswipe peered up at Frenzy, energon dribbling down his helm and faceplates.

“What the frag did you say, glitch? Were you sparked stupid or something?” Frenzy raised his weapon but did not get a chance to strike.

In a flash Sunstreaker had kicked up the handle of his blade, grabbed it and plunged it into Frenzy’s thin armour plating under his raised arm.  
  
Sideswipe used the distraction to his advantage and did a running tackle at the astonished Rumble. They crashed to the floor and Sideswipe punched the struggling mech several times in the helm and chest before he was bodily thrown off with a fierce kick to his midriff.

Rumble didn't get chance to counter attack however. The red sparkling was replaced by a gold one and Rumble howled as the blade pierced his chest.

Hearing footsteps approaching Sunstreaker grabbed his brother and they fled into the energon conduits. They escaped not a moment too soon as Soundwave appeared and his visor glowed a deep crimson at the sight of his injured cassettes. //Hook medical emergency. Service corridor B.// He crouched down and gathered the now unconscious mechs in his arms tenderly. //Soundwave to Megatron. Sir it's about the sparklings. We have a problem.//

****

Hook grimaced at his comm and met Prowl’s concerned gaze. “That was Soundwave. Seems your twins are causing more trouble. I have to go.”

Prowl's optics brightened. “You said you would help us.”

“And I will but this is a medical emergency.”

“First you get Jazz and Bluestreak out of here,” Prowl grabbed Hook’s arm. “If Megatron shows up here they're dead. Please.”

Hook relented and sighed. “we'll have to move our plan up a step then.

Jazz moved closer to Prowl. “I don't like this plan. It leaves you vulnerable. We came here to get you out,” he murmured with a frown.

“I know but I can't risk either of you being discovered. Hook will show you to the emergency pod and with the rudimentary comms he installed I should be able to maintain contact with you.”

“Not around Soundwave you can't,” Jazz countered. “you should be going to the pod with Bluestreak.”

“And leave the twins?”

“I can get them. I'm trained for this, you're not, Prowl please.”

Prowl shook his helm. “This way has a greater probability of success. Now you must go,” he looked down and gently stroked Bluestreak’s tiny helm. “It's better that he's in recharge,” he whispered softly. “If things go wrong please tell him I--”

“--You'll be telling him yourself, Prowl,” Jazz replied firmly, carefully lifting the sparkling out of Prowl's arms. He pressed him to his chest where magnetic clips Hook had provided, locked him in place so Jazz could move without holding him. He placed his hands on Prowl's shoulders and squeezed tightly. “I've grown stupidly fond of you and your bitlets so do me a favor and don't get dead, yeah?”

Meeting the earnest gaze, Prowl nodded wordlessly, his spark pulsing harder with a mixture of fear and worry. “I shall do my best.”

Jazz grinned faintly and nodded. “That's good enough,” he cupped Prowl's helm with one hand and impulsively pressed a kiss to the Praxian’s lip plating.

Caught by surprise, Prowl stiffened and his mouth parted a fraction but the contact was broken before he had the wherewithal to reciprocate. Staring mutely at Jazz his doorwings fluttered with nervous apprehension.

Jazz gazed intently at Prowl not entirely sure why he'd acted on impulse. Still it was done, there would be time for dwelling on it later. “Let's go,” he turned to Hook who was hovering impatiently by the door.

Prowl caught Jazz's subtle glance back at him and then he was gone and the medbay doors locked shut, sealing him inside. He didn't know what to think about their brief intimate contact and right now it was the least important thing on his mind. All he could do now was wait and hope that he hadn't miscalculated.

 


	13. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins find a surprising ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on this fic daily now but it just keeps getting looongeeer! Anyway, I hope it's good, please enjoy!

Kicking a metal grate, Sunstreaker managed to bend the corner enough to slip through and drop down to the empty corridor. Sideswipe wasn't far behind. 

“Back in the engine,” Sideswipe stated simply.

“They think we've gone on the run they won't think to look for us here again, for a while at least,” Sunstreaker replied, looking around the dimly lit room. 

“We did what we had to though, what if Jazz didn't get to our creator in time?” 

Sunstreaker clenched his fists. “Then we'll rescue him ourselves,” he answered firmly. 

“Big words for such a little mech.”

The twins whirled around, immediately on the defensive. They hadn't even heard the mech approach. 

“Easy,” Vortex held up one hand to placate them but didn't lower his weapon. “I'm not here to hurt you.”

“Then drop the gun,” Sideswipe snarled. 

Vortex smirked, “After what you two did to Torque? Yeah I don't think so, bitlet. I should shoot you both right here.”

“We're not stopping you,” Sunstreaker bit out. 

“I don't make a habit of shooting sparklings,” Vortex stated glibly. “And Megatron wants you alive preferably.”

Sunstreaker audibly growled and gripped his blade more tightly. “We'll deactivate before you can hand us over.”

Vortex huffed and shook his helm. “No need for the dramatics, scraplet. Nobody said anything about handing you over. Not without a plan anyway,” he added with a smirk.

Sideswipe canted his helm curiously. “Plan?”

“You want off this ship. I would rather we didn't lower ourselves to letting sparklings fight our battles, especially as that would leave too few of us to join our cause when you're actually at an age where you can make an informed choice. Megatron wants you alive. It all spells plan to get what we all want in my processor.”

“How can we trust you?” Sunstreaker demanded hotly.

“Isn't that the very definition of trust? Not knowing whether you can?” Vortex chuckled. “I don't know, how about you consider the fact I haven't shot you yet and we agree not to kill each other for a short while, hm?” he added somewhat impatiently. 

At that moment the screens flickered on and Megatron's voice filled the ship. “Sparklings, I know you can hear me. I have waited for you and want you to join me. You have already proven yourselves to be formidable warriors. As your creator I am proud. Come stand at my side and I will show you a world at your command. Your carrier has already agreed,” Prowl stepped into view and stood beside Megatron, arms clasped behind him, faceplates unreadable, doorwings rigid and held high on his back. “With his processor and your warrior strength, we will be unstoppable and no one will ever hurt you again. We will be a family,” Megatron then made a show of tugging Prowl into his side and curling a possessive arm around his waist. “You will have anything you could possibly wish for and I can give you  _ everything _ . I'm on the command deck. You will not be harmed. Come to me. To us. I'll be waiting.” 

The screen flickered off and Vortex lowered his weapon. “Better decide quickly. It seems you're out of time.” 

“And if we refuse him?” Sideswipe asked.

Vortex shrugged. “Your carrier will likely be publicly tortured to encourage your decision.” 

“Our brother. He was with us. What about him?”

“Sides’!” Sunstreaker hissed.

“If he wasn't on that display then Megatron either doesn't have him or he's killed him. It's you he wants. The other is considered defective.”

“He's not defective!” Sunstreaker snarled defensively. 

“Megatron has different views so what's it to be? You can go looking for your brother who may or may not be alive or you can trust me, maybe actually save your carrier's life and get you all off this ship.”

The twins shared a look as they communicated over their twin bond. Sideswipe frowned at his brother and vehemently nodded.

Reluctantly, Sunstreaker lowered his blade and met Vortex’s expectant gaze. “What's your plan?”

“Glad to see you are smarter than you look,” Vortex quipped. “Now I have it on good authority that your carrier was an unwilling participant in that facade we just saw so when you do present yourselves to Megatron, prepare for him to take drastic measures in an attempt to save you or stop you. You'll have to move quickly.”

“Not going to be a problem,” Sideswipe replied with a confident smirk. “We were the fastest in Praxus.”

“Clearly well versed in modesty too,” Vortex answered sardonically.

“What's modesty?”

Vortex laughed, lowered his weapon and crouched down to address the sparklings at optic level. “Nothing you're likely going to ever have to worry about.”

****

Jazz sighed softly when the screen went blank and he absently petted Blue’s helm. The sparkling let out a soft unhappy sound and stirred on the seat. Jazz gave him a warm smile. “Hey little, Blue, you rest well?” 

Bluestreak peered up at Jazz and frowned. “Cretor was on screen.”

Jazz felt his spark aching at the simple statement. “Yeah he was.”

“You said you'd save him,” Bluestreak sat up and looked around the small, dim escape pod. “You left him behind.”

“Now, Blue it wasn't like that,” Jazz started to protest.

Bluestreak was not listening and pushed down from his seat. He ran to the door, only for Jazz to catch him with one arm.

“You can't run out there, they'll see us and we'll be captured too and then your creator and your brothers will have no chance, you want that?” 

Bluestreak squirmed and struggled and finally resorted to biting the armour plating of Jazz's arm, causing the mech to drop his charge. Knowing he couldn’t leave and that he was essentially trapped in the small ship, Bluestreak acted on instinct and ran to the front of the ship. Crawling under the console, he curled up on the floor with his back to Jazz.

Frowning when he heard quiet stifled sobbing, Jazz approached and lightly brushed his fingertips over the edge of a winglet. “C’mon, little Blue… don't be that way. It's going to be alright.”

“You left him. You left him!” Bluestreak uttered between hitched intakes. “And my name is not li--little Blue it's, it's Bluestreak!” The sparkling curled into a tighter ball and smacked Jazz's outstretched hand with his winglet. 

Visor dimming, Jazz nodded and vented slowly. “Yeah I guess that's how it is. Prowl insisted on saving my plating this time and yours too but you're right, I left him and I shouldn't have done that. If anything happens to him, I'll blame myself and have to live with that the rest of my life but at least a part of him. The part that's inside you will live on,” he frowned and bowed his helm. “One cycle I hope you'll understand.” with that, Jazz returned to his seat to wait.

He sat cross-legged on the thinly padded seat and rested his arms on his legs, shoulders sagging with the weight of his seemingly endless guilt. “Primus, I don’t like to ask normally but I'm striking out here… so, if you're listening… could really use a little help here…” he murmured softly, burying his helm wearily into his hands.

****

“You performed well,” Megatron praised, brushing his fingers over a doorwing. 

Flicking his doorwing out of reach, Prowl leveled a cold glare at him. “That's all it was. A performance,” he declared defiantly, despite the mild sedative coursing through his systems. 

Ruby optics glinting, Megatron whipped the back of his large hand across Prowl's helm, sending the cuffed Praxian sprawling. Gesturing in Hook’s direction, he waved the medic over. “Still insolent. I admire the fire in your spark, Praxian but it won't help your sparklings,” he paused and corrected himself. ”My sparklings.” 

“My Lord,” Soundwave interrupted. “Previous query?”

Sighing Megatron sat heavily in his command chair and watched Hook check on his Praxian with disinterest. “Yes, Soundwave. I acknowledge that the sparklings maybe dangerous.”

“Rumble and Frenzy in critical condition,” Soundwave pointed out, keeping the emotion he felt out of his vocaliser. 

“Defeated by a pair of sparklings, Soundwave,” Megatron replied with vague amusement. “Maybe I should get them reprogrammed and retrained hm?” he suggested. 

Soundwave stiffened at the suggestion but said nothing. 

  
Megatron let out a short cruel laugh. “Relax, Soundwave. If the sparklings prove too difficult to control they'll be reprogrammed and if that fails well,” he gave Prowl a dark smirk. “I can always make more.”


	14. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better or do they get worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //comm speak//

Prowl remained stoic as Hook checked him over. They were back in Megatron's private quarters beside the command deck and a whole cycle had passed since he'd broadcast his message. Megatron had taken out his frustrations on Prowl for the entire dark cycle. He winced when Hook examined his array and the medic muttered an apology.

“You'll feel sore but the pain relief should help. I still have to give you a shot of the sedative,” he stilled when Prowl jerked away from him. “If it weren't for the sedative relaxing you there would undoubtedly be more damage,” Hook pointed out gently. “Please, this is no time for stubborn pride.”

“I should tell Jazz to leave,” Prowl stated with an edge of defeat in his voice.

“The distraction wouldn't help. Megatron will just think his sparklings are escaping and you would pay the price for that.”

“Better me than them.”

“They would be trapped on this ship. Be patient. I have a friend, he's helping. It won't be long now. Be prepared to run.”

“When?”

“You'll know,” Hook answered cryptically. “Ok I'm done here.” he turned and started at the sight of Soundwave. How long had he been there, listening? “Sir?”

“Megatron requested the prisoner. The sparklings on their way.”

Hook nodded, immediately averting his optics from that piercing red visor. He moved to get Prowl, only for Soundwave to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I will take him. You: tend cassettes.”

Hook met Prowl's bright opticked gaze and nodded sharply before turning on his heel and leaving as quickly as he could.

Curling a hand about Prowl's arm, Soundwave tugged him to his feet and walked him into the command deck. “Do not move or speak.” he commanded.

Megatron stood as the elevator door opened and revealed two soldiers escorting two small sparklings in front of them.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched anxiously and he fought the urge to rush over to them, scream at them to run. He hadn't wanted to believe they would give themselves up for him. He was so afraid for them and yet so proud of their courage. They were covered in energon, much of it not their own, their optics were bright from lack of fuel yet they marched fearlessly towards the warlord. It made prowl shudder. They were so like the mech but in their sparks he could feel how far removed from their creator they were. Their sparks were good, he could feel it in his own spark, they were his at spark and he could not stand by while they gave up their lives to a megalomaniac.

//Jazz now!// Prowl hissed through his temporary comm.

//What about you and the twins?//

//We’ll follow plan B. Just go. We'll be right behind you.//

//Prowl...//

//There’s no time!//

Soundwave picked up the errant low frequency and grabbed Prowl’s arm. “Megatron: deception!” he warned.

Prowl tore himself free from Soundwave and ran to his sparklings as best he could despite Hook’s sedative. He stumbled and dropped to his knees in front of them. “Run. Please run!” he implored desperately.

The sparklings stared at him, unsure but then Sunstreaker shook his helm. “No,” he declared firmly. Reaching up he touched his carrier's faceplates.

“This is the only way,” Sideswipe added with an eerie calm that was beyond his vorns.

Soundwave stepped closer to his commander. “He has an accomplice, a plan.”

“If that Iaconian agent is the same one that's interfered before, I would be disappointed if he hadn't,” Megatron laughed and ordered his soldiers to find the agent with Soundwave's direction. “Shoot him,” he waved dismissively at Prowl. “He's ruining my moment,” he growled.

The sparklings moved quickly and stood in the way of their carrier, preventing any shot and glared at Megatron and Soundwave before the blue mech could lift his weapon.   
The warlord folded his arms and regarded the sparklings with a smirk. “You two are impressive.”

Prowl half turned unable to reach the twins as they approached Megatron. //Jazz…?// he whispered.

//Another klik, mech.//

Without warning a popping sound was heard and the ship rocked. It wasn't powerful enough to be an attack but it was enough to be a distraction.

The twins wasted no time. Megatron had turned his back on them and was barking orders to retrieve the evacuation pod, while Soundwave was advancing towards them. Sideswipe raced towards Soundwave and skidded between his legs while Sunstreaker bolted towards Megatron and launched himself at the warlord’s back.

Megatron roared with startled anger and spun around, grabbing Sunstreaker by the leg and flinging him across the command deck.

Soundwave had already grabbed Sideswipe and was attempting to read his coding as the sparkling fought to free himself.

Prowl could only watch in horror when Sideswipe shrieked in pain. He struggled to his feet unsteadily and advanced towards Soundwave before he was grabbed roughly by the throat and heaved off the floor by Megatron's strong hand.

“We have what we want destroy that pod,” he ordered.

Prowl kicked his legs, Megatron's hand squeezing his throat, crushing the thinner plating and threatening to cut off the energon supply to his processor. Prowl's vision started to dim and his extremities began to lose feeling as he gradually fell limp in the warlord’s vice like grip.

“NOO! Let him go!” Sunstreaker screamed, running towards them.

Without warning Prowl suddenly felt weightless and hit the deck plating heavily. Onlining his optics, he struggled to focus on the heap of mech that was Megatron.

“Creator, come on, we've got to run,” Sunstreaker urged, tugging at Prowl's arm.

Pushing to his feet he grabbed Megatron's cannon and wrenched it from his arm. “Move back!” he ordered the stunned soldiers, venturing over to where Soundwave had collapsed. “Sideswipe?”

The red sparkling crawled out from beneath Soundwave's bulk, his left arm hanging loosely at his side.

Gathering him up with one arm, Prowl held him tightly. The cannon was too heavy to run with but it would get them to the elevator. “Sunstreaker, the elevator,” he commanded, keeping the weapon trained on the soldiers. At the door he paused. “You better not let Megatron see you standing there when he wakes, knowing that you let us all escape.”

The look of fear in every soldiers’ optics was momentarily satisfying for Prowl as the doors closed. Dropping the cannon, he held Sideswipe gently and examined his arm. “It's broken, you need a medic,” he stated worriedly.

“I'll be alright,” Sideswipe managed a weak grin. “Where are we going?”

“Plan B,” Prowl stated cryptically.

“I thought we were plan B?” Sunstreaker replied with a frown.

Prowl looked down at him. “How did you do that on the command deck?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Had some help.”

“What help?” Prowl demanded as the doors opened

“Mine.”

Prowl’s gaze snapped up and he stared at Vortex’s weapon aimed at his spark, helpless to defend himself.

“Well ours,” Hook added, from someway down the corridor.

“With some unexpected help from your friend. Now, move quickly,” Vortex ordered, “we've cleared the corridor to the secondary pod. You'll be taking Megatron's own as it's the closest. We've disabled the security. Now run before I change my mind.”

Prowl slid past the larger mech and jogged towards Hook. The medic injected him with something and he flinched.

“It'll help with the sedative.”

“Please help Sideswipe, his arm is broken,” Prowl pleaded with the medic.

Taking hold of the sparkling, Hook smirked when the red mechlet growled. “Takes after his carrier I see, he commented dryly.

Prowl felt a flush of pride and his plating puffed out slightly. He gently stroked Sideswipe's audial horn to calm him as Hook reset the broken protoform.

“Take this,” Hook ordered, offering a thin disc of green energon to the sparkling. “It will stop it hurting until you see a real medic.” he looked at Prowl as he handed the sparkling back. “I've reset it and locked the joint so he can't move it but he'll need a medic to fuse the break.”

“Thank you both.” Prowl ushered the sparklings into the pod and hesitated, turning to Hook and Vortex who had joined him. “You should come with us, Megatron will have your sparks,” he offered.

Hook shrugged. “I don't think my gestalt brothers would like that. It's going to be hard enough explaining any of this to them.”

Vortex shook his helm and smirked. “We will handle it. We've been dealing with Megatron's rage for a while now.”

“But that is no way to live,” Prowl insisted with concern.

“It's what we have,” Hook replied. “Tell Iacon what you've seen, maybe you can change things. Until then we'll look after our own.”

Prowl nodded in understanding and thanks before ducking inside.

“Tell those two glitches they can keep the other inhibitors I gave them. A keepsake,” Vortex added.

The alert sounded throughout the ship and Prowl gave them one last glance and a grateful wave as he palmed the door shut.

Vortex stepped back and began to walk. “Your brothers really need all this explaining?”

Hook shook his helm and smiled. “Nah, who'd you think is in the engine room right now? It's better the Praxian doesn't know though, you know in case he gets recaptured.”

Vortex hummed and nodded. Megatron would undoubtedly order Soundwave to tear the mech's mind apart to find out who helped him. “Why stay if your gestalt hate Megatron so much?”

“Better the bad spark you know. We're an abomination, how do you think Iacon would treat us?” Hook glanced at Vortex. “Why didn't you leave?”

“I have my reasons,” Vortex replied cryptically. “Let's just say I know all about being an abomination.”

Hook knew better than to pry.

****

Making his way across the small pod, Prowl found his sparklings already strapped into the copilot's seat together, optics gazing at him expectantly.

“Don't ever do something so reckless again,” Prowl scolded with a frown. “He could have killed you where you stood without a second thought.”

The twins watched silently as Prowl sat heavily in the pilot seat and activated the controls.

“Are you mad?” Sunstreaker asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

It made Prowl's spark ache to hear it and his sensor panels sagged. “Not anymore… I was scared. I've never been so scared,” he murmured, launching the pod.

He was unfamiliar with many of the pod’s controls but was a competent enough pilot to get them away from the ship. //Jazz send your coordinates we're on the second pod.//

//Tracking your location. We're not that far ahead… frag, Prowl lookout! Scanners picking up incoming!//

Prowl didn't have chance to brace for impact before a blast rocked the tiny pod, sending it tumbling through the air. Thrown from his seat, Prowl scrambled to regain control. They were outnumbered and unarmed. Prowl knew if Megatron couldn't have the twins he'd destroy them. “Hold on!” he hollered slamming the pod’s small engine in reverse, letting the enemy overshoot before turning the pod. Entering in his rapidly calculated coordinates he slammed the hyper drive control with his palm.

The pod lurched sharply, sending Prowl careening into the back of the pod. Hyperdrives were dangerous in space but to activate them on a planet was near suicide. Prowl hoped, as the pod screeched in protest, that his calculations had been correct. The Hyperdrive deactivated and the ship came to a sickening halt. They were still hurtling across Cybertron but the difference in speed felt like they had stopped in mid-air. The shock to the engines was too much and the first one exploded, sending the pod into a terrifying spin and filled it with smoke. “Close your vents!” Prowl yelled hoarsely as the toxic smoke began to clog his systems. Prowl was pinned to the wall of the pod by the increased gravity created by the spin and he could hear the twins screaming. Twisting he looked at the viewer and his spark lurched in fear as the ground raced towards them. Fighting his way to the front, he struggled to unlatch the sparklings from their seat, his vision failing as his energon lines started to slow. Finally releasing them, he grabbed them with both hands and let himself tumble to the back of the pod, wrapping his body around the twins’ tiny bodies as the pod plummeted into the ground, plunging them into darkness.


	15. Turning a Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz finds the shuttle pod and more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone. Don't worry this fic isn't dead. I will finish it, albeit slowly. I hope you don't lose interest.

Jazz stared slack-jawed at his viewer. The tiny pod stood no chance against a seeker-kin. He watched helplessly as it was attacked, his spark pulsing hard as he anticipated the worst. A bright flash suddenly filled the screen and Jazz was sure that was it. Adjusting his optics rapidly, he simply stared. The pod had vanished.

  
Bluestreak, sat in the seat beside Jazz, let out an unhappy whimper. “Wh--where did it go?” he whispered, speaking to Jazz for the first time since his outburst.

  
An explosion wouldn't cause anything to vanish. There would be traces, debris. Jazz scanned the atmosphere and vented a loud sigh of relief. “You crazy fragger,” he declared, his voice a mixture of impressed awe and incredulity. “He used the Hyperdrive. On a planet. The clever glitch could have torn the entire planet apart.”

  
“He's not a glitch!” Bluestreak retorted, frowning.

  
Jazz chuckled and found the tell tale stream of faintly energized particles, only visible if you knew what to look for. “No he's not, bitlet,” Jazz smirked. “He's a slagging genius.”

  
He waited for the Seeker to go back aboard his ship before activating his own engines. For whatever reason Megatron was not in pursuit of Prowl but Jazz wasn't going to waste the opportunity. The energised particles would fade soon and without them, he might never find the other pod.

  
“Won't they see us?” Bluestreak asked fearfully when their defenceless pod flew under the belly of the large ship.

  
“I'm staying low, hopefully moving slow enough to be under their radar. I'm guessing though that whatever plan Prowl had has incapacitated Megatron somehow, otherwise he'd already be in pursuit.”

  
“How did he do that?”

  
Jazz hummed thoughtfully. “That's what I really want to find out too, little Blue.”

  
****

  
Shafts of light waved irregularly through the cabin. It was dark, dusty and filled with debris. Masked faces peered through the dark pod, glancing at one another apprehensively.

  
“Looks like a Decepticon pod,” the taller mech said to his companion.

  
“There's been no record of ships here lately,” the other stated unhappily. “Let's just salvage what we can and get out of here before anymore do show up. This could have been a scout for all we know.”

  
The first mech nodded and stepped over a metal beam. Movement caught his attention and he froze, fingers curling about his weapon. “Think I see something,” he hissed softly.

  
Turning to his partner the other raised his weapon. “Check it out, I've got your aft.”

  
Shimmering out of view the other mech ventured closer and his intakes hitched when he heard a groan coming from directly ahead of him. He tentatively lifted a piece of grating with his foot and aimed his weapon at the source. “By Primus!” he uttered softly in shock, lowering his weapon.

  
“‘Raj, what are you doing?” the second mech growled when the noble reappeared and was crouching on the ground, blocking any clear shot he might have had of any cons.

  
“‘Hide, you need to get Ratchet.”

  
Ironhide frowned behind his mask. “Not for a fraggin’ con I don't,” he stomped forward, only to be stopped in his tracks when Mirage half turned, revealing an injured sparkling in his arms. “Frag me is that a--?”

  
“--It is indeed and not a Decepticon one,” he looked down at the mangled mess of metal and silica.

  
Ironhide followed Mirage’s gaze and his intakes stalled. “That's a fraggin’ Praxian. Primus I honestly thought they were a myth.”

  
Without warning a pair of icy blue optics lit and stared at them intently. Both mechs started and tensed, their weapons raised once more.

  
“I thought he was… I picked up no spark signature,” Ironhide whispered.

  
“Nor did I.” Mirage crouched down and held out his hand. “Can you understand us?”

  
The Praxian nodded sharply once and grimaced as he moved.

  
“Don't try to move, you're half pinned, we'll get you out,” Mirage took hold of the mech's free hand, only for it to be batted away. He watched as the Praxian’s fingers brushed over the helm of the sparkling in Mirage’s arms and let out a sob of relief to find it still warm.

  
“Please,” the Praxian spoke with broken uncertain glyphs as he shifted again and with some effort and no small amount of pain, managed to lift another damaged sparkling up and push him at Mirage. “Help them… please,” he implored desperately, his voice cracking.

  
“Oh Primus,” Mirage could feel the coolness of the other sparkling, there wasn't much time. He held the tiny bodies tightly and raced from the pod. “Hide stay with him!” he ordered before hollering once he was outside the downed pod. “Ratchet! Ratchet, emergency!”

  
“What the frag is going on!?” another gruff voice sounded, bursting out from a nearby camp. The medic met Mirage half way and without hesitating grabbed the cold sparkling and sprinted back the way he came with Mirage hot on his heels.

  
Back in the pod, Ironhide knelt beside the gravely injured Praxian and took hold of his hand. “Hang in there mech, we're going to get you out of here,” he patted the hand, frowning at how cold it felt. //hey he's not going to last much longer, mechs. Little help here//

  
“Tell… tell Jazz…”

  
“Jazz?”

  
“Tell him to look after my sparklings…” the cyan optics began to flicker and fade.

  
“Hey, no! Frag no. You stay with me!” //Fading mechs!//

  
//Force him into stasis!// Ratchet’s replied urgently. //it'll save his spark. Tool is in your kit.//

  
Ironhide acted quickly and placed the spark tool over the mech's chest where it locked into place. The Praxian jolted once and then went still. Scanning him, Ironhide vented a sigh of relief when he found the mech's vitals stabilised. He was critical but stable. He would at least survive until Ratchet got to him. //Done. Nice call.//

  
//Nice call my aft. It's basic triage training. Which you'd know if you'd bothered to come to my sessions.//

  
//Yeah Yeah. I'll get around to it,// Ironhide sank down beside his charge and kept hold of the mech's hand. //Either of you two heard of a mech called Jazz?//

  
****

  
Jazz kept switching his optics between the scanner and the viewing window of the pod. Bluestreak had fallen into a restless recharge beside him and every time the sparkling let out a whimper, Jazz felt his spark clench. “C’mon, Prowl where are you mech?” he murmured to himself. The trail of ionised particles had faded somewhat but there were still traces of them in the surrounding atmosphere. The only problem was they had stopped once the pod came out of Hyperdrive and so now Jazz was searching for it. A pod was unlikely to have survived a Hyperdrive jump within a planet's atmosphere, which was why Jazz was scanning the ground. He was growing increasingly concerned as the scanner kept bleeping at him, indicating it had not detected anything. Angrily he punched the console and let out a snarl of frustration when the scanner came back with another negative result.

  
Bluestreak was startled awake and stared at Jazz with wide fearful optics, his mewl escaping his vocaliser before he could stop it.

  
Jazz’s gaze snapped to the sparkling and he wilted. “I'm sorry little bit, I shouldn’t a’ done that,” he murmured apologetically, his gaze returning to the viewer.

  
“Do you think… think they… explo… ex…” Bluestreak started to sob before he could force the word out. It was too much. Having found his creator and been allowed to be with his brothers, escaping that horrible place, only to have it all ripped away from him.

  
Jazz’s visor brightened as the sparkling started to wail. He was not good at handling crying sparklings, but right now it was all he felt like doing too. He had promised Prowl, offered him a chance to survive to be free and it had likely gotten him and his twins killed. This was his fault. Not that their life would have been better otherwise but at least they would be alive. His spark felt like it was breaking as he gathered up a sobbing Bluestreak in his arms and held him close. Quietly he began to sing a melody his creators had sung to him as a sparkling and soothingly rubbed between Bluestreak's winglets until the sobbing faded to hiccuped whimpers. “It's alright, Blue, I'll take care of you,” he whispered, knowing it was the least he could do for Prowl.

  
After a while Jazz started tapping in the coordinates for Iacon with one hand, while holding a miserable Bluestreak with the other. He hovered over the acceleration button and hesitated. “I'm sorry, Prowl,” he whispered, activating the coordinates. The pod turned and began its journey towards Iacon, its two occupants sitting in silence, when suddenly the scanner let out a location ping.

  
“What the?” Jazz sat up, jostling Bluestreak as he did so.

  
“What is it?” Bluestreak asked quietly, afraid that Megatron was coming for them.

  
“I think I found it,” Jazz replied, urgently tapping the controls to take them lower. They were flying over an area known to Iaconians as the badlands. It was the site of old energon mines that had long since run dry and was now a wasteland of crystalline energon, acid rain and roaming cyber wolves, bordering the shores of the vast rust sea.   
  
Jazz whooped as he turned their pod around and found the downed second pod. Carefully landing nearby, Jazz pulled out his weapon. “Stay here, Blue,” he ordered gently, stepping off the pod.

  
Passively scanning the other pod as he approached, Jazz frowned to see scarring from acid rain. The hull had been ripped open. He touched it, frowning. “The engine exploded,” he murmured to himself. Raising his weapon, he stepped inside the ruined vessel. They had only been searching for them for a cycle and a half but the pod had already been stripped of anything usable or useful and there was, Jazz noted with some relief, no sign of deactivated frames anywhere. The large stain of energon glowing in his scans had his worry growing. That amount of energon could only come from a mech, but there was no sign of them. Prowl had been injured badly and someone had already taken them. Out here in the badlands it could be anyone. Mercenaries, scavengers, Decepticon spies and much worse. A faint whirring sound of a door being opened was picked up by his sensitive audio. “Blue,” he uttered urgently, scrambling back out of the pod.

  
He came face to face with a group of masked bots all with their weapons pointing directly at him. He skidded to a halt and pointed his weapon at the mech who was now holding a squirming Bluestreak tightly. “You've got 3 kliks to put him down before I put a hole through your processor. Three.”

  
“You really think you can tackle all of us?” a haughty voice asked. “You would be dead before you could so much as squeeze your trigger.”

  
“Faced worse odds, two kliks, mech, now let him go.”

  
“Do you have a death wish or are you just crazy?” another mech rumbled gruffly.

  
“Bit of both. One.”

  
“Shoot him,” ordered the mech holding Bluestreak. “After the state I found his mate, he deserves it.”

  
“My what?” Jazz didn't get an answer as the mechs opened fire. He ducked and threw himself to the floor, hissing when one blast caught him in the leg.

  
“NO PLEASE DON'T HURT JAZZ!”

  
Bluestreak's screams cut through the laser fire and every mech stopped and stared at the sparkling who was struggling furiously against Ratchet. “DON'T HURT HIM!”

  
Ratchet yelped as the sparkling bit a finger and then clamped his denta around his hand and refused to let go.

  
“Jazz?” the first mech questioned looking at the second. “This is Jazz the Praxian spoke about?”

  
Ironhide shrugged. “Got to be, mech. How many mechs would choose a designation like Jazz?”

  
Keeping his weapon raised, having finally readjusted his firm grip on Bluestreak, Ratchet approached Jazz who lay defenceless on the ground, his weapon having escaped his grasp. “This sparkling seems to trust you,” he stated, holding Bluestreak firmly, being careful not to hurt the panicked sparkling while he scrutinised Jazz. “But I don't. The injuries I found on that Praxian were done by a monster, if that wasn't you,” his engine growled angrily and the medic’s expression darkened. “You better start explaining what the frag is going on.”

  
****

Ratchet sat down in a chair heavily and massaged his helm in both hands once Jazz had finished talking. “We are slagged,” he uttered with the voice of a mech that knew what he was talking about.

  
“I take it you mechs have heard of Megatron then?” Jazz asked, looking between the group surrounding him. He was now holding Bluestreak and the sparkling had taken to furiously glaring at all of them, until Ratchet had offered him a rust stick.

  
“Too often,” the red mech called Ironhide rumbled darkly.

  
“Half the mechs in this camp have had a run in with Megatron or his fanatics,” Ratchet added.

  
Jazz's visor brightened in surprise. “I knew he was gaining power but I didn't know it extended much beyond Kaon and Vos yet.”

  
“I am surprised anyone from the safe bubble of Iacon has even an inkling of an idea about how quickly this planet is tearing itself apart. When did you realise, spy? Before or after you witnessed the horrors of Praxus?” Mirage scoffed with disdain.

  
“How were we supposed to know they were building an army using sparklings?” Jazz retorted defensively.

  
“Oh I don't know, how about listening to the people?” Mirage answered with contempt.

  
“I don't know who you think I am, mech but I'm just a bot doing his job trying to help keep the peace and get the intel. I don't have an audience with Prime himself and I'll thank you to mind your tone, noble,” Jazz responded with venom, an undercurrent of warning in his even voice. Nobles were not highly thought of and the way they treated other mechs based on their class and function was in Jazz's mind, despicable. He would recognise a noble anywhere. “Just how far from your ivory tower did you fall anyway? What did you do wrong to end up in this scrap pile, not pay enough to watch others rape an innocent?”

  
Mirage’s optics brightened and he glared at Jazz with murderous intent. He opened his mouth to reply only to think better of it and instead got up and stalked out of the tent.

  
“In case you forget you're a guest here and that noble saved your Praxian friend’s sparkling,” Ironhide spoke up. “I get that he's a bit prickly but he's not like them other nobles.”

  
Jazz pulled a face and shrugged he would believe it when he saw it. “Saved a sparkling?” he looked at Ratchet. “What's wrong with them? You didn't tell me they were hurt too, I want to see them.”

  
Ratchet hesitated and shared a look with Ironhide. “Alright but they need their rest so you can't visit long.”

  
“Good,” Jazz replied giving the medic a humorless grin as he stood up and followed him out of the tent. “That'll give us plenty of time to discuss who exactly you all are and what you're doing in the scrap pile of Cybertron.”

  
Ratchet scowled. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

  
The medic led him through a rather sophisticated camp to a white tent that was using a separate power supply than the rest of the camp. Stepping inside, Ratchet sealed it behind them and walked over to a berth partitioned from the rest. “He's going to need a lot of time to heal physically and mentally, no matter what he says,” Ratchet murmured softly.

  
Jazz just nodded and pet Bluestreak's helm reassuringly when the sparkling let out a soft worried sound. Stepping past the partition, Jazz scowled at all the wires and cabling attached to Prowl's frame. One of his sensor panels was missing and he glanced at Ratchet with a deep frown.

  
The medic looked grim. “It was sheared in half from the crash. I had to remove it or risk him going insane from the pain. I'm getting one of my mechs to build him a temporary one to help the sensor relays repair but it'll take some time,” he sighed and shook his helm. “We found him holding those two bitlets,” Ratchet gestured to the twins recharging together on a small berth. “He must have used his body to shield them, he was battered. Though I can tell the difference between crash injuries and injuries from beatings and rushed repair work and that mech has been through the pits.”

  
Jazz's scowl softened into a sad frown as he turned back to Prowl. “You don't know the half of it, doc’,” he replied. “Can we stay with them until they wake?” he asked taking a step closer.

  
Ratchet hesitated but finally gave in. “Come get me when he wakes I have to ask him a few questions. And be prepared to move in a klik’s notice. If Megatron is looking for him, he'll scour the planet and we don't want to be in his way,” he held up his hand when Jazz opened his mouth to protest. “He's my patient now. They all are. We'll not let anything happen to them if we can prevent it.”

  
Jazz relaxed a fraction and gave Ratchet a smile. “Thanks, mech. Appreciate the help.”

  
“Not doing it for you,” Ratchet answered as he left Jazz and Bluestreak alone with Prowl and the twins.

  
Jazz picked up a nearby stool and sat beside Prowl's berth. He helped Bluestreak climb up and watched as the small sparkling curled up over his creator's dented chest. “Well, Prowler, this is a mighty fine mess we've gotten ourselves into. Gotta say though, you must have Primus on your side surviving a crash like that and being found by probably the nicest mercenaries I've ever met. You're one lucky fragger let me tell you.”

  
“Remind me to… nnghh redefine the concept of… lucky to you.”

  
Jazz started at the hoarse sound of Prowl's voice. “You're awake!” he leant over him with a concerned frown. “You shouldn't be awake.”

  
Prowl flinched at the lights of the tent as he onlined his one working optic. “Tell me something I don't… know.”

  
Bluestreak stirred and peered up at Prowl with wide, bright optics and unconsciously pawed at his plating. “Carrier…?”

  
“Blue…” Prowl grimaced and tried to lift his helm to no avail.

  
Jazz gently lifted Bluestreak so Prowl wouldn't need to move and held him closer to Prowl's helm. Bluestreak's tiny hands reached out and touched Prowl's faceplates as he turned towards them with a weak smile. “Blue has missed you,” Jazz commented softly, his spark melting when Bluestreak leant closer and rested the middle of his small chevron against Prowl's. “You had us worried.”

  
Prowl’s one working optic flickered as it focused on Jazz. “That was not my intention,” he whispered. “I did what I thought--”

  
“--no explanations needed okay?” Jazz rested a hand on his helm. “You did the right the thing.”

  
“The twins…!” Prowl started suddenly, attempting to push himself up, only for Jazz to keep him lying down.

  
“Twins are fine, doc here fixed ‘em up good. They're resting,” Jazz explained, patting Prowl's plating gently.

  
Feeling somewhat overwhelmed Prowl whimpered with relief as he lay back on the berth, his hand covering his face.

  
Frowning, Jazz carried Bluestreak over to his brothers. “Stay here okay?”

  
“But--”

  
“--Now, Blue I gotta talk to your creator okay? He needs a little comfort, you know like I did for you when you thought they didn't make it?” Jazz explained softly.

  
Bluestreak pouted, his wide optics flitting to Prowl on the berth before his winglets drooped and he nodded.

  
“There's a brave mech,” Jazz lifted Bluestreak’s face to grin at the mechlet. “Look after your big brothers, yeah?”

  
Bluestreak gave Jazz a watery smile and nodded. Moving back to Prowl, Jazz pulled his chair up and sat beside the mech, close to his helm.

  
“Thank you,” Prowl managed to whisper. “I can't bear for him to see me like this…” his voice held a tremour. “I'm sorry it's just…”

  
“...just nothing, you've been through traumatic slag, Prowl. For what it's worth you're handling things well, I'm surprised you haven't broken down sooner. There's no shame in it, you can trust me,” Jazz gently pet Prowl's helm as he turned to look at him.

  
“Need to be stronger… for them. They're not out of danger…” he murmured, intakes hitching at the thought of still being hunted.

  
“You also need to not be insane and trust me holding too much slag in does things to your spark and in turn your processor,” Jazz smiled thinly at Prowl. “I've seen it first hand so talk to me,” he insisted. “Don't need to put up a brave front for me, I've seen some of what you've been through.”

  
His one optic dimming, Prowl vented a sigh. “I had such… such aspirations… wanted to make a difference, help Praxus… do my duty…” he trailed off his cooling fans clicking with the strain of venting the warm air from his over taxed self repair.

  
“Hey, you're still doing all those things,” Jazz soothed softly.

  
Prowl turned away, fingers curling into the padding as rage and guilt rippled through his field. “I betrayed everything I've ever known…”

  
Frowning Jazz felt a little out of his depth. Emotional support wasn't really his forté. “I had a friend. Nicest bot you could want to meet would do anything for anybody. He ended up with a mech who had a lot of issues. His spark was in the right place he wasn't evil but there was a disconnect, like his spark had been corrupted somehow,” Jazz paused as Prowl turned slowly to gaze at him with mild confusion. “Thing is that mech, he started beating my friend, blaming him for the things he did wrong in his life. I asked my friend once why he didn't leave and tell the enforcers and he said it would be a betrayal of his trust and he needed him…” Jazz trailed off and looked down at his hands.

  
“What happened?” whispered Prowl.   
Jazz shrugged a little. “That mech killed my friend. He would never have told anyone except me. I wish I'd done something… but it would've betrayed my friend's trust...”

  
“I'm sorry,” Prowl murmured.

  
“Betrayal of that which you hold dear is sometimes a necessity if it becomes a matter of life and death. You might feel like you've betrayed everything now and feel like you've made the biggest mistake of your life but I guarantee in a vorn or even half a vorn you'll look back and know you did the right thing,” Jazz looked over at the stirring sparklings as Bluestreak hugged his brothers awake. “Especially for them.”

  
Prowl followed his gaze and allowed himself a small smile as the sparklings snuggled happily together. “I feel like I've failed them, robbed them of a future…”

  
Jazz gently took hold of Prowl's hand and squeezed as he leaned closer so the now curious sparklings wouldn't overhear. “Saved them from a fate they had no control over. At least now they'll get a choice in who they want to be. Sounds to me like you just need to grieve what you've given up. One of the hardest things a living spark can do is walk away from everything it's ever known. Let yourself grieve.”

  
Prowl’s hand curled around Jazz's and held it tightly. “Not here, not in front of them…” he whispered, his field rippling with emotion as he clamped down on them and shoved them deep down.

  
Turning Prowl's face towards him, Jazz rested his helm on Prowl's. “Don't leave it too long. I'm here you can use me. Just say the word,” he murmured, pressing his lip components to the centre of Prowl's chevron, causing the mech's intakes to hitch.

  
Jazz pulled away and grinned at the three sparklings looking at them expectantly. Standing, he moved to their berth and frowned at how battered their little frames were. Scooping them up gently he carried the twins to Prowl and watched them crawl up to his shoulders and snuggle his helm. Jazz turned back to retrieve Bluestreak, only to find the mechlet climbing onto Prowl's berth. “Got tenacity this one,” he smiled with amusement as he gave the determined, tiny sparkling a helping hand. Watching how Prowl’s arms curled around them protectively as he held them and touched their faces, Jazz's spark warmed. This was worth every sacrifice.

  
****


	16. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz finds out more about their would-be rescuers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks, 5 assignments all due for the 6th of December >_

Jazz had stayed with Prowl until the mech and his sparklings all succumbed to recharge. They'd all been exhausted after their ordeal. Truth be told, so was Jazz but he knew Megatron would not rest until he found them and he needed answers. Slipping out of the medbay, he spied the noble sat outside a tent with another mech Jazz hadn't met yet. Upon seeing Jazz the noble glared but the mech beside him stood up and ventured over.

  
“You're Jazz right?”

  
“That's me, who's asking?”

  
The green mech grinned. “Hound, I'm the scout of this outfit, I wasn't here when you arrived.”

  
Jazz nodded shooting a glance past Hound to Mirage who was staring at them. “M’I going to get stabbed for talking to you, mech?”

  
Hound followed his gaze and chuckled. “Ah, no, don't mind, Mirage. He doesn't trust newcomers and he's quite protective of me.”

  
Raising an optic ridge at that, Jazz canted his helm curiously at Hound. “Forgive me for saying so but you don't look like you need protecting, least of all from a noble.”

  
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Hound answered cryptically and ducked his helm and smiled somewhat shyly. “He's told me about our guests. How are they?”

  
Jazz gave him a small shrug. “They're alive but they've been through the pits so healing is going to need a lot of time.”

  
Hound nodded somberly. “Ratchet is the best medic this side of Cybertron, they're in good hands.”

  
“Speaking of, know where I can find him?”

  
“He'll be in his tent over there,” Hound pointed to a modest tent tucked away behind the medbay. “I don't think he'll be in recharge, want me to come with you?”

  
Jazz shook his helm and grinned at Hound while his glance flitted to Mirage still sat sullenly outside his own tent. “Nah, I think I've taken up enough of your time.”

  
Hound smiled and glanced back at Mirage too. “Thanks, with things so unsettled and always having to be on the move, we don't get to spend quality time together as often as we'd like.”

  
“Wait. You two are together?”

  
Hound visibly brightened. “That we are. I feel like the luckiest mech on Cybertron.”

  
Jazz couldn't agree with that sentiment but patted Hound’s arm amicably. “Well, I never saw a noble as the settling type but good for you.”

  
Placing a friendly hand on Jazz's shoulder, not noticing how the smaller mech’s stiffened at the contact, Hound chuckled. “There's more to him than most see. He's not like those other nobles you've met.”

  
“I'm beginning to realise that,” Jazz murmured. “Go, don't let me infringe on your quality time. Thanks for the chat.”

  
“Anytime,” Hound smiled and turned back to Mirage.

  
Jazz watched as the two mechs disappeared into the tent soon after with only one last glare from Mirage in his direction. Shaking his helm with vague disbelief, he wandered over to Ratchet's tent. “Ratchet?”

  
“Come in, it's open.”

  
Jazz ducked inside, pushing a panel to one side, letting it slide closed as he straightened. The tent was warm and held a soft glow that wasn't too glaring against the tent’s metallic walls. Ratchet was sat in a chair that looked comfortable and out of place in the rugged outdoors. “Nice chair,” Jazz complimented with a small smile. “Into your home comforts huh?”

  
Ratchet gave him a brief glance. “Only thing I have left of my home. That and a couple of datapads.”

  
Jazz was admittedly curious. “And where's home?”

  
Ratchet put the datapad he'd been reading on a small nearby table. “Here. Now,” he paused. “It was Crystal City.”

  
Jazz frowned. “Frag, I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  
The medic shrugged. “Started out similar to Praxus and then started running out of resources. One thing led to another and before we knew it we were considered a city state of Kaon, under the control of Shockwave. With none of the benefits.”

  
“Shockwave, I've heard that name.”

  
“I hope that's all you ever know of him. He's not a mech you want to meet,” Ratchet gestured to another chair, basic metal, built for practical purpose and nothing more. “Have a seat. I'm assuming you have questions.”

  
Jazz accepted the offer and sat on the chair. “Well I was hoping it would be more of an exchange of information between allies.”

  
“So we're allies now?” Ratchet smirked.

  
“That's the hope,” Jazz replied. “You made the choice to save Prowl after all, I'm hard pressed to call you my enemy.”

  
Ratchet chuckled. “We saved an injured Praxian and his sparklings who have no connection to Iacon as of yet. We are out here precisely because having allies gets you killed or worse.”

  
“What's worse than deactivation?”

  
“Shockwave.”

  
Jazz pressed his lip components together tightly. He had heard of the atrocities that happened in Crystal City before it was virtually destroyed by riots and protests but he would have to do more background research on this Shockwave. “Alright, well in the name of helping a fellow Cybertronian out, you tell me what I want to know and I'll tell you what I can about what you want to know.”

  
“You're assuming I want to know anything about you or your Praxian friend,” Ratchet answered dryly.

  
“We're stuck here for the time being so please, work with me here.”

  
“Not used to being told no are you?”

  
Jazz gave the medic an unapologetic shrug. “Nature of my job, I've learned no isn't really an option.”

  
Ratchet shifted and leant closer to Jazz, his sharp optics scrutinising the mech. “I don't trust you. Mech in my position and with my skill set can't afford to trust anyone anymore but I'll admit, I'm intrigued and honestly as I'm not a mech to turn his patients out into the cold to fend for themselves, I'd like to know what slag I've gotten us into.”

  
Jazz leant back in his chair and folded his arms. “I already told you what we're running from. You want more, then you're going to have to give me something.”

  
Ratchet frowned and pursed his lip components. “I don't want this showing up in your reports to Iacon, we're under the radar for a reason,” he pointed a finger at Jazz.

  
Jazz smirked at the medic. “I'm not promising anything but how detailed my report is going to be is entirely up to you, mech.”

  
“Fine,” Ratchet's engine gave a rev of indignation. “What do you want to know?”

  
“Let's start with who you all are and what you're doing out here. Then we'll touch on what you're running from,” he declared astutely.

  
****

  
Jazz had asked only a few questions about Ratchet and his little band of mercenaries. He wasn't even sure if he could call them that. They weren't hired to do jobs they had made themselves nomads on a modern Cybertron. They travelled to smaller cities when they needed resources but usually only in groups of two or three but for the majority of their time they stayed out in the wilds and the places city dwelling mechs dared not to go. Most were escaping some form of oppression, some were petty criminals, Jazz wasn’t one to judge. Ironhide and Ratchet were the only ones who had any connection to Iacon. Ratchet had once served as a military doctor under Sentinel Prime but had become disillusioned in the cause after seeing what many of the soldiers were put through and how little consideration was given to their lives. Ironhide had been a sergeant and weapons master serving in the army and had agreed with Ratchet's sentiments to such a degree, he'd gone awol to join him. What Jazz couldn't understand was how I life lived in the middle of the badlands with little resources nor defences was better than living in the protection of a city.

  
Ratchet laughed. “Let me guess sparked and raised Iaconian?”

  
Jazz canted his helm. “Polihexian actually,” he corrected.

  
“And that there is why you don't understand why we choose this life,” he gave Jazz a friendly smile. “I bet your Praxian friend would.”

  
“Could you keep them safe from Megatron?” Jazz frowned.

  
“He's not found us so far.”

  
“He hasn't been hunting a member of your party so far,” Jazz pointed out. “He'd likely make examples out of any that get in his way. I knew the mech was ruthless but I honestly had no idea to what degree. As much as Prowl would probably like to stay, I've got to get them to Iacon.”

  
It was Ratchet's turn to frown. “What's so important in Iacon?”

  
“Well there's that fragging gestalt he has that Prime really needs to know about, not to mention with Prowl's knowledge we'd have legal standing to go against Megatron and maybe even liberate Praxus.”

  
Quirking an optic ridge, Ratchet sat back. “I think you're overestimating the altruism of Prime and the council.”

  
“And I think you're underestimating the compassion of the new Prime. He's no Sentinel and he goes against the council more often than not from what I've heard.”

  
“It all sounds a little too good to be true so you'll forgive me for being skeptical.”

  
Jazz nodded. “But Prowl and his bitlets, they don't have the same luxury. They and you if he stays are in very real danger. Megatron is coming. He will find you.”

  
Ratchet believed Jazz's grim warning but he was at an impasse. “Prowl is still not strong enough to be moved yet. For the time being we'll have to accept that risk. We're very good at hiding and disappearing.”

  
“Maybe I could I fly him out of here, I have my ship--”

  
“--had…”

  
Jazz stilled. “What?”

  
“I said you had a ship.”

  
Jazz was on his feet in an instant. “What did you do? That was our only way out of here! You had no right!”

  
Ratchet remained calm but his tone lowered with a note of warning. “We had every right. Megatron undoubtedly has tracking devices on those ships and what do you think we run the medical facilities with? Happy thoughts? We took what we could use and we vapourised the rest. If Megatron is indeed hunting your friend, we're not about to leave a giant sign pointing him in our direction now are we? Have some sense, Jazz.”

  
Jazz could have punched the mech at that point. He bristled. “Arrogant son of a glitch. What the frag am I supposed to do now?”

  
“Well you're free to try walking across the rust flats to the rust sea between us and Iacon. Mirage would be delighted if you could try it but I would recommend travelling with us for a while,” Ratchet answered calmly.

  
“Wait what?”

  
The medic raised an optic ridge. “It'll take you longer to get there but I think this is the last place Megatron would think of looking. Does he even know the other ship crashed?”

  
“It was damaged, he might've thought the hyper-acceleration would have disintegrated it, in which case he thinks Prowl and his twins are dead,” Jazz mused thoughtfully.

  
“And the little one?”

  
Jazz shook his helm. “He won't look for Blue’, he thinks he's defective.”

  
Ratchet pursed his lip components at that. “So what do you say? We travel slowly but we know how to stay out of sight and all the back roads into Iacon.”

  
“He'll have his spies…”

  
“Looking for two mechs and three sparklings,” Ratchet pointed out. “They'll likely ignore us, if they spot us.”

  
“You're so sure of yourself,” Jazz countered.

  
“We've been out here for about five vorns, Jazz. I know what I'm talking about. It's up to you, take your chances with us or take your chances out there and I guarantee, out there, if Megatron doesn't get you then the rust will.”

  
Jazz sat back down and gave the medic a pointed look. “What's it going to cost me?”

  
Ratchet smirked. “A mech of your skill set? Not much. Nothing you can't afford to give anyway.” 


	17. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz and Prowl don't always see optic to optic.

Prowl woke with a start as he felt Megatron's hands on him once more. Spark pulsing hard in his chest he didn't move for a few kliks as his senses returned. Realising he wasn't in Megatron's room anymore, he relaxed a fraction only to tense up again when a voice he didn't immediately recognise graced his audio. 

 

“Good to see you online,” Ratchet scanned Prowl’s frame and offered him a smile. “Your self repair is doing a great job and we should hopefully be able to replace your sensor panel when we get to the next city.”

 

Prowl hadn't realised it was missing and frowned up at the mech. “Who are you, where am I?” he then noticed his sparklings weren't with him and tried to sit up in panic. 

 

Ratchet placed a firm hand on Prowl's shoulder and kept him from jarring anything. “Calm down. They're recharging, just over there,” he gestured with his helm.

 

Prowl followed his gaze and lay back wearily against the berth once he'd seen them. It had taken him so long to get them in his arms, he woke every cycle with the thought that he'd lost them. 

 

Ratchet patted his shoulder and activated the berth to help Prowl partially sit up. “Here, drink this, you need to keep your energy levels up,” he handed Prowl a cube of dark blue energon.

 

Taking a sip, Prowl balked and ended up spitting out the mouthful of the bitter tasting liquid. “That is awful,” he spluttered. 

 

Pursing his lip components, Ratchet folded his arms and gave Prowl a pointed look. “It's undiluted medical grade. After what you've been through you need it. Now don't be a sparkling about it and drink.”

 

Prowl frowned at the medic and his faceplates screwed up as he tentatively sipped at the extremely bitter liquid. “Aren't there supposed to be minerals added to make it less bitter or at least a neutralising ingredient?”

 

Ratchet huffed. “In the cities sure. However, we're not in a city.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“My medbay. In my home. Which, right now, is in the middle of the rust flats. I'm Ratchet by the way.”

 

Prowl's optics brightened at the revelation. “Is Megatron…? Did we escape?” he asked softly.

 

“For now,” Ratchet replied. “We're nomadic so we’ll move on long before Megatron even finds out you were here.”

 

Prowl continued to sip at his fuel, optics dimming. “I apologise for bringing this to your doorstep. Thank you for helping us.”

 

The medic shook his helm. “Weren't going to leave you out there to deactivate. We're nomads not barbarians,” he chuckled. “And no apologies necessary. I'm more than certain you did not ask for all of this slag,” he reassured. “You're going to be staying with us for a while, at least until you heal so when you're able to walk around we've built you a tent to share with the bitlets and Jazz.” 

 

“Jazz?” 

 

Ratchet shrugged. “The mech insisted on being nearby, we offered him his own tent. He's quite protective of you.”

 

Prowl stared at his cube thoughtfully, swirling it as he mulled over everything that had happened. “He saved our lives,” he started softly. “At great expense to his own.” 

 

“I wouldn't call him a hero just yet,” Ratchet cautioned. 

 

“What are you implying?” Prowl scowled.

 

“By the mech's own admission he saved you for his own reasons,” Ratchet explained. “Perhaps you should have a chat with your friend about who he really is and what he wants.”

 

“I resent your tone,” Prowl retorted.  
Ratchet chuckled once more. “Many do. Now look don't go getting worked up, you'll both be here for a while so it'll go a lot easier if you tell me your name.”

 

“Prowl.”

 

“And them?” Ratchet already knew their names but figured it would make Prowl more comfortable to introduce his sparklings to him personally. 

 

“The yellow twin is Sunstreaker and his brother is Sideswipe, Bluestreak is the youngest.” 

 

Nodding and smiling, Ratchet placed a comforting hand on Prowl's shoulder. “Don't worry about Iacon or your promise to Jazz now you hear me? All you need to do is rest and repair for those bitlets. Whether Jazz can be trusted remains to be seen but I will always err on the side of caution until I really know someone. After all you've been through, it would be a shame to run from one tyrant into the arms of another.”

 

“Jazz isn't--”

 

“--not him, no. But do you have any idea who he works for, who he answers to?” Ratchet asked earnestly. He squeezed Prowl's shoulder and nodded in understanding when the Praxian had no answer. “He got you here, which in my view was a Primus driven miracle. Before you continue on, ask yourself what you're heading toward. Ask him. You followed him this far out of desperation. Things aren't so urgent right now and you and your little ones are safe here. You have a right to know. If not for your peace of mind then for their safety,” he pointed at the sparklings. “I'm not trying to sew discord I'm merely advising you to know all your options, in detail before you move forward.”

 

Prowl watched silently as Ratchet packed his tools away before returning to his berth. It was a lot to take in. The only one he'd felt able to trust since Vim had been Jazz. This stranger, however, the medic who had asked for nothing in return for saving his and his sparklings’ lives had made a good point. He didn't know Jazz. Not really. What was in this for him? Why was he important to Jazz's mission? Could he really trust a mech whose very profession was covering his true identity, lying and sneaking around? 

 

“Drink up. I'm not leaving until I see an empty cube,” Ratchet commanded, folding his arms and staying at Prowl's berth side. 

 

The Praxian forced himself to swallow down the foul fuel as fast as possible and grimaced, willing himself not to gag as he emptied the cube. Finished he shoved the cube at Ratchet while coughing to clear his intakes, still managing to glare at the mech as he chuckled at his struggle. 

 

“Forcing medicine on him, I see?” Jazz grinned as he stepped into the medbay. 

 

“Won't be the last time I'm sure of that,” Ratchet smirked. “Don't keep him up. He needs to rest,” he added with a glance at Jazz. 

 

Jazz held up his hands in mock surrender. “Won't be long, I swear.” 

 

“Rest and don't worry,” the medic said to Prowl before huffing air out of his intakes, cleaning out the cube and leaving them alone. 

 

“You should be resting too,” Prowl spoke to Jazz quietly, Ratchet's words still swirling about his processor. 

 

“Wanted to check on you first,” Jazz replied with a smile. “You're looking better.”

 

Prowl returned the smile with a faint one of his own. “Will feel better when I am not in pieces,” he answered, his remaining sensor panel twitching. The pain relief Ratchet had given him wasn't as strong as the initial dose and he was beginning to feel the loss of his sensor panel. It was disorientating. 

 

Jazz hummed in sympathy and placed a hand on Prowl's arm. “So I thought you should know, these mechs, they dismantled and destroyed my ship.”

 

Prowl was startled at that and suddenly looked fearful. No escape meant they were trapped. At the mercy of these nomads. 

 

“Now calm down,” Jazz urged gently, lightly petting Prowl's plating. “They've said we can stay a while. It'll take us longer to get to Iacon but we'll be able to stay under the radar. I also don't fancy walking through the rust flats.”

 

“Can we trust them?” Prowl asked.

 

Jazz gave a half shrug. “As much as we can trust anyone. I don't think they mean us any harm but who knows what they'll do if Megatron comes knocking on their door,” he paused and gave Prowl a lopsided grin. “We can look out for each other until we reach Iacon. Things will be easier when we get there.”

 

“Why?” 

 

“Huh?” Jazz canted his helm questioningly at Prowl. “Why what?” 

 

“Why Iacon. What is so important that you take us there for?” 

 

Jazz frowned at Prowl. “Mech, we talked about this. You can uncover the corruption in Praxus. You're an eyewitness to Megatron's devolving mental state and violent tendencies and the council need to be made aware of the threat.”

 

“Why couldn't you do it?” Prowl asked. “Isn't that your job, to gather intelligence and report back?” 

 

“Yes, but nothing is being done. The council aren't listening. Hearing a first hand account will force them to listen to take action. Prime will finally get to hear of the danger on our doorstep,” Jazz explained as patiently as he could. “Why all the questions, Prowl. I thought we understood one another.”

 

“After all I have been through, you'll forgive me for being cautious. For the sake of my--”

 

“--We've been through, Prowl,” Jazz interrupted tersely. “And let me stop you right there. I would face Megatron's cannon myself before I let any harm come to those bitlets so don't you dare use them against me.”

 

“Jazz I have been used my entire life so you surely understand my misgivings.”

 

“What I understand is that you'll listen to the words of a stranger instead of trusting the actions of a mech who could have left you back in Praxus, and yeah don't think I didn't hear that little conversation,” Jazz countered firmly. “My guess is you'd be a permanent fixture on Megatron's berth if I had and your sparklings would be preparing for war. What do you honestly think is in this for me hm? A promotion? A handshake with Prime? My job is intel, Prowl not smuggling fugitives out of a city in the hope of maybe saving them from the slag heap of an existence I found them in. After this I will get to keep on doing my job.”

 

“And what of us?” Prowl bit back sharply. “When you deliver us to your council and return to your safe city and your job and your easy life. What happens to us? Do you have any idea what happens to those needing asylum or protection? We are not Iaconians, what loyalty would any of them have for us? Tell me that, Jazz?” 

 

“Mech, you know nothing about my life so I'd advise you not to make assumptions,” Jazz looked away from Prowl and sighed. “I honestly don't know what will happen but I know you won't be made into a frag toy for trade. You would be respected as a mech with a spark. They'd find you a place--”

 

“--but you don't know!” Prowl insisted.”You're asking me to trust you when you have no idea what is going to happen.”

 

“No I don't alright,” Jazz snapped back and stood up from his chair. “I can't see into the future but I am asking you to trust me because I've already saved your fragging life at risk to my own when I had absolutely no reason to. I'm asking you to trust me because I listened to your sparklings and I didn't leave you on Megatron's ship. Am asking you to trust me because if you don't he will find you and I won't be there to stop him from raping you to death!” Jazz growled and shook his helm, his anger deflating somewhat when he noticed three pairs of optics staring at him in confusion. In fear. “You know what, trust me or don't, it's your choice, mech. Stay here and pretend the world isn't going to slag. Trust these mechs to protect you from Megatron's forces. Do whatever the slag you want but don't you dare pretend I haven't done everything in my power to earn your trust. I don't need this slag. I never did, I will go to Iacon myself,” he turned to the door. “And I as sure as pit don't need you and your doubt. We'll talk when you're done being an ungrateful glitch.”

 

****

 

When Prowl could finally walk around it had to be with the help of a makeshift cane. His doorwing was still missing and so his balance was off which kept causing him to fall into walls or misjudge his surroundings. It didn't help that his sparklings insisted upon being wherever he was which meant they kept getting underfoot when they were playing. Prowl had found it difficult to scold them at first. They'd had so little chance to just be sparklings and simply play, he had not the spark. When it had almost caused himself and Bluestreak to end up in the medbay though, Ratchet had done the scolding and had lectured Prowl on the benefits of fair discipline. 

 

The sparklings had been less rowdy since that cycle and the twins had taken a shine to Ironhide who often sparred with them to satisfy their warrior coding that coursed through their young frames. 

 

Sat watching Ironhide and Mirage spar with his twins, with Bluestreak reading a datapad in his lap was the closest Prowl could ever remember coming to genuine contentment. He frowned as he looked out across the rust desert. Ratchet had assured him that Jazz had gone with Hound on a supply and trade run and that he would be back. However, after their fight, Prowl was not so sure. He'd been a fool. Jazz had given him no reason to doubt him and yet he had listened to a stranger and succumbed to his fears. He wanted to apologise but wasn't certain he would ever be given that chance. 

 

“We have incoming!” the mech called Trailbreaker hollered suddenly.

 

The camp was suddenly a flurry of commotion. Prowl picked up Bluestreak and held him tightly as Ironhide carried the twins to the medbay. Prowl had learned that the medbay itself was actually a reformatted transport ship and it was the only part of their camp that wasn't dismantled when they travelled. 

 

“How far out?” Ratchet demanded. 

 

“Fifteen vuns , closing fast.” 

 

Ratchet's engine revved. “Power glide, go, find out if it's friend or foe, try not to be seen.”

 

The flier leapt and transformed, accelerating into the sky. 

 

“Fifteen parsecs,” Ironhide frowned. “We won't be able to move in that time.”

 

They were only a quarter of the way through packing the camp up and Ratchet looked worried. “We've no choice.” 

 

Prowl put Bluestreak down and hobbled towards them. “Let me help.”

 

“Prowl this is not the time,” Ratchet started impatiently. 

 

“I am an enforcer and a master tactician. I also have an advanced battle computer installed into my processor. It just needs activating, I can help. If you move now. You will be seen,” Prowl insisted emphatically.

 

Ironhide and Ratchet shared a glance. “Why didn't you tell me about your battle computer? Do you realise how dangerous having one in your processor is?” Ratchet groused angrily.

 

“We can debate the finer points at a later date. Just activate it and I will be able to keep you and your camp safe.” 

 

Ratchet growled and retrieved a tool from his subspace. Stepping up to Prowl he accessed his processor through the side of his helm. “We are going to have a long talk about keeping things from your medic,” he grumbled. 

 

Prowl hummed absently in agreement when his optics suddenly went bright and then offlined. His processor was flooded with data that was being processed at an incredible speed. Prowl eventually became aware of voices calling his name and he onlined his optics only to find himself staring up at the sky.

 

“Oh thank Primus,” Ratchet exclaimed with relief. “Are you with us?”

 

Prowl’s optics flickered. “It seems that a battle computer works instantaneously.”

 

“You're fragging telling me.”

 

“Gave us a fright,” Ironhide added peering down at Prowl. 

 

“How much time do we have left?” Prowl asked.

 

“You were only out for a few seconds,” Ratchet explained. 

 

“Where is Mirage?” Prowl asked suddenly. 

 

“Here,” the noble answered from where he was guarding three very concerned looking sparklings. 

 

“What is the energy output of your stealth shield?” Prowl asked as Ratchet helped him up. 

 

Ironhide was surprised, “How did you know about that?” 

 

“The shuttle,” Prowl responded simply. 

 

Mirage came over and answered with a frown, “I'm not sure. It isn't much otherwise it would defeat the purpose of staying hidden.” 

 

“What are you thinking, Prowl?” Ratchet asked with a frown. 

 

“We hide,” Prowl answered simply. “In plain sight.”


	18. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz learns a little more about Prowl.

Jazz increased his speed as they neared the base’s location. He'd recorded the exact coordinates, told Ratchet to stay put. His scanners weren't lying to him though, in the distance where the base should have been was a smoking hole and one of the tents that Ratchet had been using. Spark pounding in his chest, Jazz transformed and skidded across the loose surface of crystal dust and Arsenopyrite. “No…” he murmured. “Aaarghh!!” he hollered out to the sky in frustration fists clenched tightly. It had all been for naught.

 

Hound caught up and transformed, he looked around with bright optics. “Mirage…” he whispered softly, sinking to his knees. 

 

Jazz moved over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm so sorry…” he whispered. 

 

Hound shook his helm. “We've managed to stay safe all this time…”

 

Jazz's visor dimmed. This was their fault. The hunted only endangered others. He withdrew his hand slowly, only to freeze when Hound suddenly gripped it and pointed to the ground in front of them. 

 

“Look…” he whispered. 

 

Jazz crouched down and peered at the ground. “What am I looking at?” 

 

“There's been a rainfall since we left. The acid in the rain, causes the Arsenopyrite to give off sulphur but there are no sulphur traces here.”

 

“Well we know they were here…” Jazz tried to point out gently. 

 

Hound was on his feet, gaze fixed on the ground as he walked forward. “It extends past where our base ended. They moved!” he exclaimed, breaking into a run.

 

“Hound, wait up!” Jazz called out. “How can you tell? It could be a trap!” 

 

“There's a trail. Less sulphur deposits have formed and most of the Arsenopyrite is still in its non-dissolved state.” 

 

Jazz pulled a face. “I'm going to trust that you know what you're talking about,” he replied still none the wiser.

 

“I have specially equipped scanners that help me pick up elements that we could convert to usable energon,” Hound explained. “It's a specialised mod and it would have cost a lot of credits if not for ‘Raj.” 

 

He pointed to an uneven part of the land, where metallic crystalline dunes rose and fell. “In there.” 

 

Jazz stopped the mech before he could dash off. “Hang on, it's magnetic and there are toxins coming from those dunes.” 

 

Hound nodded. “Because of the heat,” he pointed to their blue tinged star. 

 

“How did all this stuff get here?” Jazz asked as they headed cautiously into the dunes. 

 

“  
It was volcanic here once, before the planet was covered in metal. This was the largest pegmatite on the planet.” 

 

“A pegamind what?” Jazz frowned. He was genuinely confused and curious but also hoping to keep Hound focused and not despairing about what had likely happened. Even he didn't want to think about it.

 

“Pegmatite,” Hound explained patiently. He was appreciating the distraction of Jazz's questions. It helped him not think about and start worrying about Mirage and the others. “It's a holocrystalline structure of feldspar and quartz among many other things. Hard but also when mined it can give us the elements and minerals to make basic energon. The Arsenopyrite runs in veins throughout. We can use it for other things but it's more of a waste product. Especially if you don't know how to break it down properly. It can make a fuel that's toxic to us, fatal if ingested too much but creates a nice buzz when taken in the right amounts, a sedative effect too making a mech docile, Ratchet has experimented with it.” 

 

Jazz didn't really know what to say to that. He was talking about drug experimentation. Seemed wrong somehow to him. Things certainly were different out of the city. 

 

Hound stopped dead in his tracks and frowned. 

 

“What is it, mech?”

 

“The trail ends here… it's completely dry but there is nothing here.”

 

Jazz looked around and switched on the enhanced features of his visor. It allowed him to see the entire spectrum of light. For a normal mech it would be blinding and incomprehensible but Jazz's processor had its own mods, ones Ratchet would probably love to poke at. It allowed him to differentiate and focus. A slow smile spread across his face. “Does anyone you know have a sort of cloak, um stealth shield?” 

 

Hound nodded. “Mirage has one. He got it so we could meet without anyone knowing. As a noble he would have been punished for fraternising with a commoner,” the mech frowned. “It's only powerful enough to shield one maybe two mechs at most though.”

 

Jazz turned and grinned at Hound. “Looks like they got creative,” he activated his speakers and released a low level sonic blast towards the valley. 

 

Hound stared in amazement as the very air around them seemed to shimmer and distort as the sound waves assaulted it and passed through it. “That's incredible!” 

 

“Sweetness! We're home!” Jazz shouted, his voice echoing through the valley. 

 

The base seemed to appear right before their optics as the shield was lowered. Jazz walked forward as Ratchet stepped out of the medbay trailer. “Mech, you're a sight for sore optics.”

 

“Not so bad yourself,” Ratchet smirked, greeting Hound warmly. “Mirage is waiting for you.”

 

“How did you do this, Ratchet?” Hound asked before he left.

 

The medic glanced at Jazz. “We actually have Prowl to thank for that. Hound, Mirage will catch you up, I need to speak with Jazz.” 

 

Jazz frowned as the other mech jogged to his shared tent. “Other than the results of our scout which was successful, what else do you need to talk to me about, doc?” he asked. He was actually itching to speak with Prowl and clear up any tension that might still exist between them. He hadn't meant to be so harsh before he'd left. 

 

“Just come inside. There's something you need to be made aware of,” the medic answered cryptically, leaving no room for argument. His tone however, had Jazz worried. Had something happened to Prowl or the sparklings? He would never forgive himself if it had. 

 

“It's cruel to leave a mech hanging on like this, Ratchet,” he complained. 

 

“As cruel as allowing a mech to think you had left them behind after a fight?” another voice spoke up as Jazz entered the med tent. 

 

Jazz instantly recognised and didn't recognise the speaker. The tone was flat, no anger or bitterness in his tone. In fact there was no feeling of any kind. “Prowl?”

 

The other black and white, gave Jazz a slight inclination of his helm and regarded him stoically. “Jazz.”

 

“Someone want to tell me what's going on here?” 

 

Ratchet sighed wearily. “Prowl saved us at a personal cost. I didn't know it would have such a strong effect and now the stubborn aft refuses to turn it off.”

 

“Language, Ratchet. My sparklings are present,” Prowl chided blandly. 

 

“Refuses to turn what off?” Jazz was growing more confused by the click.

 

“Prowl has a tactical battle computer installed into his processor. He turned it on when we were about to be discovered and helped us figure out a way to escape. He won't turn it off, despite the fact it's turned him into a walking talking computer drone.” Ratchet scowled at the mech. “Even his sparklings are upset. But he says his processor is clearer this way and I quote; ‘less bogged down with unnecessary, confusing spark felt emotion’.” Ratchet glared at Jazz. “me thinks you're the reason that was becoming an issue for him so I suggest you talk and get him to shut the thing off before it can't be.” 

 

Jazz just stared at Ratchet his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. “How is this my fault?” he retorted, knowing the moment he said it why it was his fault. 

 

“Like I said before you left. He depended on you a lot more than you realised and now he thinks he's better off not feeling anything,” Ratchet leaned in closer on his way past. “If he doesn't shut it down, I speak from experience when I say it'll be bad. It'll either fuse with his processor leaving it on permanently or destroy his mind. It's an old mod. I can improve it, give him more control over it but he needs to shut it down first.” 

 

Jazz turned to face Prowl - whose expression hadn't changed as he scrutinised Jazz with piercing, unwavering optics - and vented a heavy sigh. He had never been good at apologies. He shouldn't have let Prowl think he'd left. No matter how angry he'd been. “Prowl I--”

 

“--Am sorry. I know. It was not your intention to deceive me.” 

 

Jazz winced at the interruption. “Look--”

 

Prowl held up his hand. “--Let me stop you there, Jazz. There is nothing you can do or say that will make me turn the modification off. It is essential to our survival if we are to make it to Iacon before Megatron finds us and he is closing in. If there is nothing else? I have plans to refine.”

 

Jazz stared open-mouthed at the retreating Praxian’s back as he turned and walked away. He caught sight of the sparklings glaring at him from a berth where they all sat together. Bluestreak simply pointed in the direction Prowl had gone, while the twins looked like they were thinking of ways to murder him slowly and painfully. Rubbing his faceplates, Jazz looked up. “Primus give me strength,” he uttered before jogging after Prowl.

 

****

 

“Prowl please, would you just stop and listen for a klik?” Jazz grabbed Prowl’s arm to stop him walking away and glared at him. “You're being irrational.”

 

Prowl canted his helm at Jazz quizzically. “It is actually impossible for me to be irrational with the battle computer activated. It is designed to process the emotions so they are simply additional factors to acknowledge.”

 

Jazz sighed. “Is that why you're leaving it on? So you don't have to feel anything?” 

 

Prowl regarded him coolly but didn't answer immediately. “Yes,” he replied after a few seconds. “I can protect my sparklings more effectively this way.”

 

“And what about you?” Jazz prompted with concern. “If you don't emotionally process all the slag you've been through, are going through, you're going to crack or go insane.”

 

“The emotions are being processed I am simply not being affected by them,” Prowl pointed out. “It is not detrimental.”

 

Jazz snorted. “Not detri-- did you see your sparklings in there?” he pointed back towards the med tent. “They don't know how to be around you, how to turn to you for comfort. They don't have battle computers in their helms and they feel. Right now they need a creator who is there for them emotionally, not just a protector. They've been through more slag than most adult mechs have. If you're not there for them now, you will lose them. Emotionally, they'll pull away from you.” 

 

Prowl listened to Jazz's words and his optics flickered when he couldn't fault his logic. “I can't protect them with feelings, but with this,” he tapped his helm, “I can,” he tried to counter with a frown. 

 

Jazz stepped closer and took Prowl's helm in his hands as the other mech's uncertainty and confusion rippled through his field. “Prowl, I promised to protect you and them and I will, even if that means I have to protect you all from yourself. Please turn the thing off, let Ratchet look at it. It might not be the most tactically sound thing to do but it's the right thing to do for those sparklings and for you.” 

 

Prowl held his gaze, he wasn't wrong and yet his resolve wavered. Jazz wasn't wrong either. “What if I cannot protect them? If I let them down…?” he whispered hesitantly. 

 

Jazz drew closer, offering comfort and reassurance in his field. He wanted the Prowl that had stood up to his people, fought for his sparklings back, the Prowl that had trusted him, had confided in him. The Prowl whose strength and determination to live, he had become inexplicably drawn to and quite fond of despite the unfortunate circumstances in which they had met. “You won't be doing it alone,” he murmured, pressing his forehelm against Prowl’s. 

 

Neither of them said anything for a long few moments and it was Prowl who moved first, much to Jazz's surprise. He didn't protest however, when Prowl's lip components shyly brushed against his own. It was hesitant, awkward and clumsy and so gentle Jazz wasn't sure if it had been intentional until Prowl didn't pull away. Every part of him screamed to pull back, to stop this before he got in too deep. ‘Don't get emotionally invested’ he could hear Quickshot’s voice repeating those words through his processor. His job was to infiltrate, never get attached. Yet, he couldn't stop himself, didn't want to stop himself as he pressed into the clumsy kiss, his hand curling about Prowl's helm as he tilted his own and deepened the kiss. His spark was pounding as he went against his training and his survival instincts. This was driven by something stronger than survival though. Something he couldn't name. 

 

It felt… all the things he had hoped such intimate gestures would feel. Prowl mewled when a sudden sharp pain lanced through his helm. Prowl felt himself falling and Jazz's bright visor was the last thing he saw before everything went black.


	19. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between a rock and a hard place.

Ratchet frowned as he worked and occasionally glanced up as Jazz resumed his pacing. “Hovering isn't going to make it go any faster.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Jazz snapped. He stopped and rubbed his helm. “I'm sorry, I just. This is my fault and I need to be here.”

Ratchet's optics dimmed in sympathy and he cast a sidelong look at the stricken sparklings on the next berth. “They don't,” he replied softly.

Jazz opened his mouth to protest when he heard a stifled sob. His visor brightened as he looked at the sparklings, expecting to see an upset Bluestreak, only to catch Sunstreaker wiping his faceplates roughly and avoiding everybody's optics and his siblings’ comfort.

After everything they'd been through, seeing his creator on a medical berth, his processor visible as Ratchet cut, soldered and recut, was simply too much for Sunstreaker.

Jazz moved over to their berth. “Alright, bitlets, let's go. Prowl doesn't want you sitting in here. There's a lot we have to teach you, so c’mon.”

Bluestreak nodded and slid down off the berth followed by sideswipe who took hold of his twin’s hand, only for Sunstreaker to snatch it away.

“I'm not going anywhere,” the sparkling snarled.

Jazz crouched down to Sunstreaker's optic level and vented a sigh. “I know this is difficult…” he started softly.

“You don't know anything,” Sunstreaker bit out. “You think because you helped rescue us that you can tell us what to do, that you understand what we've lived through? You come from your city with your principles and your rules that protect you, you know who protected us?” Sunstreaker glared at Jazz, who already knew the answer to that question but let the little mechling rant anyway. “He did. Even when they caught him talking to us, found out he'd named us, made us watch while they stripped his sensor panels, made an example of him so we wouldn't resist their authority, he protected us. You don't know anything about difficult…”

Jazz nodded and glanced over at Prowl being tended to by Ratchet. “Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What I do and don't know isn't for sparkling audios, my little mech. You're right about one thing though, Prowl has been protecting you as much as he can your whole life and he'd want you to be protected now. You can't be here to see him at his weakest. He doesn't need you doubting him so young and I do know he'd want me to protect you in his place,” Jazz stood and gazed down at the sparkling. “That's why I'm giving you to the count of five to get your aft off that berth and follow your brothers because I can assure you, little mech, no matter what deadly skills you have, or what hurts you've been through, I will put you over my shoulder and carry you out of here if you don't.”

Sunstreaker met Jazz's gaze with a defiant glare.

“One…”

The golden mechlet stubbornly refused to move.

“Two…”

Sunstreaker balled his fists up and looked back at his creator and Ratchet who was pointedly not watching them.

“Three…”

The mechling could only detect calm and quiet in Jazz's field as that visor gazed at him steadily.

“Four…”

He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't. Jazz wouldn't really carry out his threat would he? Sunstreaker scowled as he remembered seeing his creator and Jazz standing close together before Prowl had collapsed. His creator trusted Jazz. That meant he should too, right? What if it was all a trick? He wouldn't lose his creator to another, he wouldn't!

“Fi--”

“--fine,” Sunstreaker snapped. He jumped down off the berth and stalked his way past Jazz. His attempts to appear threatening were thwarted by the fact he only came to Jazz's knee joint. “I hate you,” he muttered bitterly as he tried to shove Jazz's leg on his way past, only to find it wouldn't budge. Which only made him angrier.

Jazz vented another sigh and caught sight of Ratchet's raised optic ridge and barely there smirk. “Not a word, mech, not a word.”

Ratchet's smirk simply blossomed into a smile as Jazz followed the sparklings out and lightly patted Prowl's cheek plating. “Might have yourself a keeper there, Prowl.”

****

As time passed in their safe little nook, hidden from the world, Jazz could have sworn everything else just melted away. He watched the sparklings grow and learn under the competent tutelage of Ratchet and his small team. Bluestreak had insisted he be taught how to fight, despite his sensitive nature and extremely young age. He threatened to scream the place down until Prowl himself started teaching him how to shoot. Jazz smirked at the little sparkling’s attempts. They obviously hadn't let him use an actual weapon but the inert laser beam his purposely built, sparkling sized rifle shot with, let out a beep every time he hit a target. A different sound depending on level of accuracy.

Jazz watched as he worked with Trailbreaker to fix up a working comms and laughed at Prowl pretending to get shot and falling to the ground, only for the sparklings to pile on top of him.

“Looks like lessons are done for the day,” Trailbreaker mused with a chuckle.

Jazz hummed his agreement and laughed when Prowl pretended to be defeated and went still, only to grab his sparklings suddenly when they got too close and tried to scoop them up into his arms. The sparklings’ screams of delight and enjoyment as they ran from their creator rang through the base and made many of the mechs smile. They made a refreshing change to hiding in fear and distrust. Jazz patted Trailbreaker’s shoulder. “Let me know when you get a signal on that frequency.”

“Sure thing,” Trailbreaker grinned and watched Jazz step into the fray, only for the golden sparkling to immediately stop playing and run away.

Jazz laughed as Prowl called out to Sunstreaker with a frown. “Still hates me, huh?” he smirked, handing Prowl a cube of energon.

“He is stubborn,” Prowl pointed out.   
“Not unlike another mech I know,” he teased.

“But he doesn't actually hate you,” Prowl continued, only raising an optic ridge at Jazz's comment. “He is just not ready to admit it yet.”

Jazz nodded. “I remember being that age. Hopefully he'll come around to me being around.”

Prowl looked down at his cube thoughtfully. “I think it's more him being afraid that one cycle you won't be…”

Jazz's visor brightened at that. “Is that just his fear?” he asked tentatively. Things between them had been awkward since the medbay and Prowl's recovery and Jazz wasn't sure why. He'd kissed mechs before. Neither of them had broached what had happened however, which likely had something to do with it.

“I have to admit to a--”

“Jazz! I have something!” Trailbreaker called out, cutting off whatever Prowl was going to say.

Jazz vented a sigh. So much for clearing the air between them. “Coming!” he looked at Prowl. “You'll probably want to listen too, been trying to get in touch with the mech who sent me to Praxus. My boss.”

Prowl nodded and followed Jazz into Trailbreaker’s little workshop. He was honestly terribly afraid that Jazz would vanish from their lives once they reached the safety of Iacon but he also knew that Jazz had had a whole life before Praxus was thrust upon him and had resigned himself to the fact that there was no place for him and his sparklings. Not that he could blame the mech really. Jazz hadn't asked for any of this to happen which was why he hadn't pushed the lingering issue of that kiss.

****

//Jazz! Primus cursed fraggin glitched pain in my aft plating Jazz? Is that really you?//

Jazz grinned sheepishly at Trailbreaker and Prowl. “He likes me really…”

//Like you? I've been cursing your name! When they told me you were actually alive and not deactivated like we thought, I almost resigned.//

Jazz frowned when Quickshot laughed. “How have things been? Since I left?”

//You know how it is. Policy and council meetings. Some issue with the Kaonite Megatron. Warrant for Meister’s arrest, the usual.//

“A warrant?”

//Yeah issued by the council. Megatron has accused Iacon of spying and helping a Praxian criminal take valuable things from him, I think botnapping of the mech's sparklings or something, though to think that Megatron has sparklings is beyond surreal. Prime is meeting with him and his delegates in four cycles.//

Jazz met Prowl's gaze, the Praxian looked stricken. “Megatron's coming to Iacon?”

//Yes, so it would be good if you could come back and we can you know close your fact finding case in Vos.//

“Well I am currently without transport so a pick up would be nice,” Jazz replied, keeping his tone carefully casual.

//Give me your location. I'll pick you up personally. I'm sure you'd like to take that leave you've been saving. I can grab your intel and report and then you can take a few cycles off. Where is it you were going again?//

“I planned on seeing a few of the sights in Polihex and maybe catching a few concerts in Helex and the Crystal Valley.”

//Yeah Yeah that was it. Well good, you've earned the time off. I'll come meet you get that report. Where can I find you?//

Hesitating for a couple of kliks, Jazz sent him the location of the town he and Hound had visited for supplies and Intel.

//Alright. Good to hear from you, Jazz. Try to stay out of trouble until I get there, yeah?//

“You know me,” Jazz replied with a laugh.

//Yeah that's what I'm worried about. Just take care of yourself.//

Jazz nodded and the comm went silent. His smile faded to a stern frown and he looked up at Prowl, whose bright optics stared back at him searchingly, fearfully. “We got to go see Ratchet. Come on.”

Prowl allowed Jazz to steer him out of Trailbreaker's hut and tried to ignore the increasing pulses of his spark. “What is it, Jazz? Please tell me…” he murmured.

“We got to get ready. We're going on a trip.”

“To meet Quickshot?” Prowl asked. “At the coordinates?”

“No. We’ll be headed to Helex,” Jazz answered tersely. “We got to prepare first.”

“Helex?” Prowl frowned. “Jazz what is happening, please can you tell me?”

Jazz stopped and sighed. He turned Prowl to face him and placed a hand on either arm. “Megatron has already got to Iacon. They want Meister’s head and he wants you back. The council will hand you over and your sparklings just to keep the peace. We were speaking in code. Quickshot has my back. He can help us but he needs our data. Thing is, there is a high possibility we could get captured so we need to get what you know out of your processor so he can get it to Prime.”

Prowl frowned. “If the council won't listen what makes you think the Prime will?”

Jazz smiled sadly. “Optimus is different. He hasn't had cause to go against the council yet but he doesn't know what's happening. The council block intel, keep him in the dark. It's time we turn the light on,” Jazz gazed at Prowl earnestly. “It's risky and it's a lot to ask but your sparklings will be safe here. Are you with me?”

Prowl looked down at the ground his sensor panels twitching as he frowned.

“I can't do this without you. We can't stop Megatron without you but, if you've had enough and want to disappear. I will understand. I will help make that happen. The choice is yours, Prowler.”

Prowl's frown deepened and he pulled free of Jazz and turned away. His optics fixed on the sight of his sparklings playing together, shrieking and laughing. They were free, at the moment. If Megatron gained more power or brought war to Cybertron, there would be no more moments, no more freedom.

Jazz felt dismay and reached out for Prowl when he turned away only to fall short. It was too much to ask and he hated himself for it. “Prowl, I…--”

“--I am with you,” Prowl interrupted sharply.

“Are you sure?”

Prowl half looked over his shoulder at Jazz. “Whether I am certain or not the fact remains, that I have no choice.”

 

****

Prowl fidgeted as Ratchet applied the last of his disguise. He pulled a face when the medic pulled back. “How bad is it?”

Ratchet canted his helm a little and gave him a shrug. “You certainly don't look like you, which I suppose is a good thing.”

Jazz stepped into the room and threw Prowl a sympathetic smile. “A very good thing,” he patted Ratchet's shoulder. “Good work.”

“My sensor panels itch,” Prowl complained with a pout. He peered at Jazz through the golden visor and scowled at him. “This had better be worth it.”

Jazz stepped closer and placed his hands on Prowl's now large shoulders. “It will be. Then you and the bitlets can finally stop running and have a life.” He sighed softly, knowing he was asking a lot of the mech who had already lived through too much. “You look like a tank by the way, so remember to hold yourself like one. What's your story?”

“I am Crankshaft from Ibex. I import raw energon from the mines at Kaon. I enjoy gladiator matches and spending time in my local high grade bar, Melted circuits,” Prowl recited.

“And what do you hate?”

“The council, Iacon and anyone who thinks mechs have a defined place they should stick to,” he hesitated and pursed his mouth.

“Where we're going he has a lot of support, you need to make it believable,” Jazz prompted gently.

Prowl huffed and his sensor panels ached to moved beneath the large armour pinning them in place. “I think Megatron has some good ideas about how to make things right and fair again and the Prime should listen to him and scrap the council,” the words tasted bad in his mouth but he was to play a part if they weren't to end up deactivated or worse while waiting for Jazz's contact to show up.

Jazz smiled and moved away. He nodded to Ratchet who activated something at the back of Jazz's helm.

“Now the longer you stay in this form, the more painful it will be to change back,” Ratchet cautioned. “So try to change back once every cycle. It'll minimize the effects.”

Jazz nodded and stiffened as the entirety of his plating seemed to ripple and contort out of shape.

Prowl watched with fascination as Jazz morphed into a silver mech, with angles and sharp edges to his frame that made him look more menacing than his standard, curved edge, black and white self. “Meister I presume?” he stated mildly.

Jazz gave him a half smirk. “Pleasure is all mine,” he drawled, his voice lower, edgier than before.

“How much of you changes?” Prowl asked curiously.

“You can still trust me, if that's what you're worried about,” the silver mech replied somewhat defensively, flexing his clawed hand. “I'm still Jazz, my personality subroutines are wired in such a way that Meister is a separate persona, ultimately controlled by Jazz's base personality subroutines. My goals are the same, my morals are ambiguous in achieving those goals and I don't stop until the job is done,” Jazz-Meister smirked at Prowl. “You're in good hands, mech.”

Prowl didn't doubt that but that didn't stop the shiver of unease that crept down his spinal struts when Jazz pinned him with a calculating gaze.

“Prowl you'll also need to shed the armour from your frame once a cycle otherwise it could cause damage to your sensor panels and create errant feedback in your sensor net, that can cause glitches, Jazz you'll have to help him get in and out of his disguise.”

Meister’s visor glowed at Prowl and the silver mech’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Be my pleasure.”

Ratchet continued, ignoring him. “Here is a transmitter, they transmit only once, with one message: compromised, run,” he looked between them earnestly. “Press them when there is absolutely no other choice.”

Prowl looked at the transmitter in his hand and back at Ratchet. “Why?”

“The message will only come to us by short wave and once we receive it, we pack up, we disappear…no trace.” Ratchet held Prowl's stricken gaze. “I promise you no harm will come to the sparklings, they'll remain with us,” he curled Prowl's hand around the transmitter. “Only when you have no other choice,” he glanced pointedly at Meister watching them like a hawk. “Hopefully it won't come to that,” stepping back he regarded them both. “May Primus go with you.” 


	20. Possession and loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz admits a lot and Prowl risks everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last month. Real life took over everything. Thanks for sticking with this story you are the fuel to my fire. We're heading towards the final arc now. Hang in there!

Against Jazz’s or rather Meister’s wishes, Prowl insisted on seeing his sparklings before he left. It was late into the dark cycle when he entered the tent Ratchet had provided for his family. The twins were still awake and glared at him, not recognising him through his disguise. Prowl held up his hands to placate them. “It's me,” he spoke softly, flaring his field out with love. 

The twins relaxed a fraction. “You look different,” Sunstreaker declared tersely. 

Prowl nodded and perched on the end of their shared berth. “Jazz and I have to go away for a while. We have to try and get word to Prime, so we can stop Megatron once and for all.”

The twins shared a glance. “How long?” Sideswipe asked quietly.

Prowl's golden visor disguising his optics dimmed as his optics did. “I don't know.” 

“You're leaving us behind then,” Sunstreaker stated bluntly. 

Prowl's spark ached. “For your own safety. These nomads have managed to remain hidden for vorns. Megatron will never find you here and Ratchet and the others will take care of you. I dare say they have already grown quite fond of you,” he managed a weak smile at his oldest sparklings. 

The twins didn't return the smile and simply held each other's hand.

“I know this is difficult,” Prowl started softly. “I am sorry I could not give you a better start in life…”

Prowl's words were cut off when both twins suddenly embraced his larger frame as best as they could. Feeling like his spark had been run through with an energon sword, Prowl held them tightly. “Take care of each other and Bluestreak, don't let anybody separate you.” 

“We won't,” the twins replied in unison. 

Turning to his recharging sparkling on the other side of the tent, Prowl brushed a hand over his tiny helm. Bluestreak stirred and mumbled sleepily, small hands reaching out for Prowl's large one. Prowl smiled at his sparkling and let the love in his field envelop Bluestreak. “Been through so much, you'll be the strongest of us,” he murmured into his audio. “I love you Blue’,” he added and pressed a kiss to the centre of his chevron. 

Bluestreak turned into his warmth and smiled softly, still half in recharge. “Love you, creator…” he whispered before drifting off into a deeper, peaceful recharge. 

Pulling away, Prowl gave them one last look before he ducked out of the tent. He saw Meister waiting for him in the shadows, only the azure of his visor visible until he shifted. 

“Let's move,” the silver mech commanded. 

“They would probably like to see you too you realise,” Prowl pointed out with a slight frown. 

Meister paused and cast him an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “Not like this.” 

Without another word, Meister transformed and revved his engine. //Try to keep up, Cranks’ and do everything I tell you.//

//Don't worry about me. I know how to follow orders.// Prowl responded stiffly. He transformed slowly, his transformation cog; brand new thanks to Ratchet. He was unused to the extra weight on his joints but folded down smoothly. His engine rumbled. 

//Do you now?// Meister chortled over their comm line. //We will see won't we.// 

****

Unused to driving such distances, Prowl was exhausted by the time they arrived at their destination, yet he did not complain. Meister did not seem to invite conversation as readily as Jazz did and while Prowl marveled at the intricacies of his personality subroutines, he couldn't help but wonder how much of Jazz was in control. He silently followed Jazz's lead and transformed as they headed into Helex. 

Helex was a run down little place that bustled with energy. Formally a hub for the energon miners, many of the locals had turned to less legal methods of earning credits once the mines dried up. Prowl tried not to wince as he was bumped and jostled thanks to his large outer frame and remained focused on Jazz as he glided through the crowds effortlessly. Mechs seemed to move out of Meister’s way with wary, uneasy glances, not that Prowl could blame them. 

Entering a local energon bar, Meister sauntered up to the bar and nodded at the mech behind it. 

“Long time no see, Meister,” the mech drawled with a smirk. “Usual?” 

“Hit me, been a long drive,” Meister leant on the bar and raked his visored gaze over the room. 

Placing a cube in front of the silver mech, the barkeep poured out a bright pink fluid, that to Prowl smelled toxic. Meister was unfazed and downed it in one. “One for my mech, Crank here,” Meister jerked his helm at Prowl. 

Prowl kept his expression as neutral as he could as he picked up the cube and stared at the pink fluid. 

“Not gonna bite ya,” the bar mech declared. 

Prowl caught Meister’s scrutinising stare and mirrored his previous action by downing it in one. The bitter substance hit the back of his throat and immediately made him splutter and his intakes catch. Slamming the cube down on the bar, he managed to get himself under control before glaring at the barkeep and rumbling. “Nasty.” 

The mech simply laughed. “Have another.” 

Prowl didn't really have a choice and so ended up downing the second cube while the barmech smirked at him. 

“Not the chatty sort is he?” 

Meister shrugged, “Most mechs talk too much.”

The other mech nodded and poured him out another, “So what brings you back to this pit? Business or pleasure?” he asked with a look up and down Prowl's frame. 

“Bit of everything,” Meister responded. “Need a room. Private, with a view.”

“That'll cost ya,” the barmech cautioned with a raised optic ridge as he poured out another cube for Prowl. 

To his credit, Prowl sipped this next cube, his processor already feeling fuzzy from downing two cubes of high grade. It didn't help that he'd never touched high grade before, so his systems processed it extremely quickly. 

Meister apparently was used to it and appeared unfazed as he beckoned the barmech closer and murmured something Prowl couldn't hear into the mech's audio. 

Prowl resisted the urge to scowl as the two mechs looked in his direction briefly and the barmech smirked. 

“You feel me?” Meister asked, finishing off his third cube and gestured for Prowl to finish off his.

“Just this once,” the barmech took away the empty cubes and pinned the silver mech with a hard glare. “If my boss finds out it'll be my job, you owe me.” 

“I'll be gone before the end of next cycle,” Meister promised. “Thanks, mech, you're the best.” 

“Yeah, yeah, they all say that,” the barmech threw Prowl a knowing grin and a wink. “Enjoy yourself, don't scratch the paint job, he hates that.”

Prowl simply grunted an acknowledgement and followed Meister, not blind to the implications of the barmech’s words. He was beginning to realise the more he found out about Jazz the less he actually knew about the mech. 

Meister headed up some stairs at the back, looking around constantly as though searching for someone. He was silent as they climbed to the third floor and waved Prowl into the small room first, after he'd checked it out. Prowl dreaded to think who Meister believed would be hiding in the empty room and decided not to ask. The silver mech already seemed more tense since leaving the bar.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked after watching Meister lock the door and check every nook and cranny in the room and the window several times. Meister simply looked at him silently, before disappearing into the wash rack. 

Prowl sighed and sat on the single berth. His plating itched horribly and his sensor panels ached, the pain resonating through his frame every time he moved. He was so tired and rather than struggling to remove the extra armour, he instead lay down on his side and offlined his optics. 

Prowl stirred suddenly when a hand brushed his face above the mask, it was the only part of his plating not covered. Bright optics stared into the azure visor and halted. “Jazz?” he asked cautiously. 

“Mostly,” the silver mech replied. “It's too difficult to change back completely until the mission is complete. Don't want to risk it.”

Prowl sat up, grimacing as the movement aggravated his plating more. “Who do you think will be paying attention?”

“Anybody, everybody. Megatron didn't get as powerful as he has on propaganda and charm alone.” 

Prowl shot Jazz a withering look at that. He absently scratched at his plating and fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“It's hurts?” Jazz asked with concern, sitting beside Prowl. 

“Everywhere,” Prowl replied wearily. “Plus I feel incredibly hot after that high grade…” he held his helm and made the mistake of looking at the floor. His vision swam and he tried to catch himself before the unfamiliar armour and dizziness caused him to topple to the floor.

“Whoa!” Jazz was beside him in an instant and turned him over. Scanning him he frowned. “You're overheating. Have you ever drank high grade before?” 

Prowl whined and shook his helm. “Please get it off,” he rasped, fingers clawing at the disguise. 

Jazz wasted no time and carefully helped lift off the heavy armour fastened to Prowl's frame. He worked as fast as he could without causing damage to Prowl's plating but it wasn't fast enough for Prowl who started trying to rip off panels, complaining that he was burning. 

“Frag,” Jazz swore as he Prowl writhed on the berth. “You have to dispel the charge or you're going to go into stasis lock.” 

“Do it then!” Prowl snapped unable to focus as pain rippled through his systems. 

“Only one way I know to get rid of charge that fast,” Jazz leaned over Prowl and held his helm still so he could look him in the optics. “You'll have to overload.” 

Prowl clutched at Jazz's arm and held on tightly. “Please.” 

Jazz's optics dimmed behind his visor. This was the second time he'd been forced to be inappropriate. “One cycle I swear I'm going to show you how this can be fun,” he responded with a frown. 

“I...nghg… look forward...mmh… to it,” Prowl panted, his HUD flashed critical as his systems climbed into dangerous temperatures. He could feel his consciousness fading and then without warning Jazz's voice was in his processor. 

//Had to plug in before you became unresponsive. This has to be quick. Open your chest plates//

Prowl hesitated at the request, anxiety and dread crawling through him.

//I'll not hurt you. Trust me.//

//Meister…?// Prowl thought with uncertainty.

//He's honestly just happy to get you in a berth. I promise I'll explain everything. We're out of time. Do it now.// 

Prowl acquiesced and knew he was suddenly screaming as he felt ice envelop his spark and shoot through his energon lines. It went on for what felt like an age before he sank into blissful oblivion. 

Jazz wilted over Prowl's frame with a sigh of relief. Still connected he felt the battle computer within Prowl's processor force a reboot and Prowl came online with a gasp. “How you feeling?” 

Prowl stared at Jazz in confusion. “Much better. What did you do?”

Holding up his clawed hand, Jazz smirked. “Magnetic pulses straight to the spark. Creates a focus point of energy that has to be expelled. A forced overload. It's also quick. Lucky for you, you were seconds away from stasis lock.” 

“Thank you,” Prowl murmured weakly.

“Anytime, Jazz chuckled. “I've never seen anybody react that badly to high grade before.”

“We have high grade in Praxus but it is nothing in potency compared to what you call high grade and I was never permitted to have any. The strongest energon I consumed was medical grade,” Prowl explained. 

“I think Ratch’ will need to know about this when we get back. Fraggin’ high grade can kill you.”

“Agreed,” Prowl nodded. 

They fell quiet for a few kliks until Prowl broke the silence once more. “Jazz?”

“Yeah, mech?”

“You can probably unplug now.” 

“Oh, sorry!” Jazz quickly detached his cord and slid to lie beside Prowl. “The Meister subroutines are likely to resurface soon. Now believe me when I say you can trust him, but…”

“But?” Prowl prompted softly.

“If we wake up like this, he may invite himself to more. If you say no he will stop. I just wanted to warn you,” Jazz explained, visor dim. “Being what he is, he's pushy and knows what he wants and I don't…”

Prowl stared up at the ceiling, digesting Jazz's words. “Jazz?”

Jazz sighed softly. “I don't want him to interface with you,” he mumbled apologetically. 

Prowl actually smiled and shifted to face Jazz, his fingers lightly brushing a helm finial. “Are you becoming possessive?” he asked playfully. 

Jazz gave him a sheepish grin. “Long past possessive,” he admitted. “You've sorta grown on me.”

“Like cosmic rust,” Prowl teased gently.

“Not at--”

Prowl stopped Jazz's protest with a finger pressed to his lip components. “It was a joke,” he smiled faintly. “You can be assured that Meister will not lay a hand on me. I can defend myself and I'm not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” Jazz murmured.

“He will not touch me,” Prowl insisted. Slowly he brushed his thumb over Jazz's mouth. “But you can,” he whispered. 

Jazz's visor brightened and he stared at Prowl in disbelief. “You don't have to say that... you owe me nothing.”

“I wouldn't ever offer myself as payment, Jazz. I want you, like I have wanted no other. I barely understand the feelings myself and the situation is hardly ideal, but perhaps… one cycle…when the threat of deactivation isn't so apparent?” Prowl stated hopefully. 

Jazz relaxed with a chuckle at Prowl's dry wit and nodded, cupping Prowl's face and gazing into his tired, dimming optics “One cycle,” he affirmed softly. “You should rest now,” he urged. “I'll keep watch. I'll protect you.” 

Prowl closed the short distance between them and pressed a drowsy kiss to Jazz's mouth that made the silver mech’s lips tingle. “... I know…” he murmured, giving in to the urge to recharge.


	21. Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Distracting myself from politics for a short while. I hope it's worth the wait. Thank you for all the kind comments I'm sorry I don't reply to them much. I appreciate them all.

Prowl woke slowly and stirred, recalling the previous dark cycle had him onlining his optics rapidly, only to find the silver mech perched on the other side of the berth. Jazz's face was unreadable as he scrutinised Prowl. After a long heavy klik of silence, Jazz slid off the berth. 

“Put your armour back on, my contact will be here soon.”

Prowl got up and stared at the armour strewn across the room. “I cannot do it by myself,” he stated after a few hesitant kliks. Given the tightness of the mech's field and the piercing glare he received, Prowl had no doubt that he was speaking to Meister now. 

“You can deal with your front, I'll do your back.” 

Prowl simply nodded and began to click the leg pieces into place. He picked up the chest piece and hooked it on, fastening it securely. He flexed his sensor panels a few times as Meister approached, before folding them down against his back. He stilled when he felt clawed fingers brushing the appendages. It was barely there and only lasted for a second before the back plate was hoisted onto his back, pinning his sensor panels. Reaching for the helm, Prowl put it on and activated the golden visor and face mask. “I am ready.” 

Meister gave him a curt nod as he circled him like a predator. “Don't speak until I tell you. Do everything I tell you to. Understand?” 

Prowl nodded once, he just wanted to meet Jazz's contact, give him the intel and get back to his sparklings and then hopefully disappear. 

Meister led the way out of the room, constantly looking over his shoulder as they headed into the now quiet bar. He gave the barmech a look and the mech simply pointed in the direction of the door. Ducking out into the street, Meister walked quickly. There weren't many mechanisms around and the cold light of the sun was barely starting to peek over the horizon. It was still early. For that, Prowl was glad, it was hard to maneuver in his armour and he would have ended up just walking into everyone. Meister slipped inside another building across the road and gestured for Prowl to follow. 

Frowning, Prowl obeyed but was concerned by how isolated this new building was. Glancing around, he hesitated warily. “There's something wrong about this…” he started. He didn't get chance to finish before Meister was up in his grill. 

“What the frag did I tell you?” the silver mech hissed. “You want to get dragged off to Iacon?” 

Prowl clamped his mouth shut. His field still prickled with apprehension and his battle computer idly fed him the statistics that they were walking into a trap. 

“I've done this a thousand times, relax. You're with the Meister.” The silver mech continued deeper into the building. 

Prowl had no choice but to follow. Movement in his peripheral kept catching his attention but whenever he turned to look there was nobody there. 

Meister finally stopped and let out a melodic whistle. 

Prowl waited, his intakes stalled as a mech appeared from the shadows. 

“Musical classic of Polihex’s unappreciated, Treble?” the voice asked steadily. 

“Fifth Symphony in synthesiser played expertly on the Diapasonium.”

The mech appeared with a smile. “Meister, glad to see your memory files haven't corrupted yet.” 

“Haven't been away that long. How you been, Quick’?” the silver mech drawled. 

“Have been better. There have been changes since you left,” Quickshot explained somewhat hesitantly, his optics glancing around to the shadows. 

Prowl watched him closely, and followed his gaze, his field pulling tight as a sinking feeling gripped his spark. 

“What's changed?” 

“The council, they're pulling a lot more weight. Prime has insisted on open talks with Kaon but he's kept mostly out of the loop by the council, so if you've got something on Kaon we can use for negotiating, now will be a good time.” 

Meister had noticed Quickshot’s tense body language and kept himself apprised of all their exits. “Yeah I got something. Praxus is working for the Kaonite. They're breeding an army.” 

Quickshot stilled and stared at Meister. “You can't be serious? Breeding? Whatever for?” 

Meister smirked darkly, not a trace of humour on his face. “What else, mech? War.” 

Quickshot looked nervous. “These are heavy accusations. What's your evidence?”

“A witness. One from the inside.” 

Sighing the other mech rubbed his helm wearily. “Frag me this just keeps getting worse…” he looked at Meister in earnest. “A Praxian?” 

Meister didn't say anything he simply held Quickshot’s gaze as the mech held out a datapad. 

“Meister... Jazz… look at the datapad...please.” 

The silver mech’s visor flashed dangerously as his name was revealed and he took the datapad. 

“We should go,” Prowl hissed, stepping closer to Meister. Quickshot’s field rippled with barely contained apprehension.

“Wanted?” Meister spat angrily. “Fugitives!? What the frag is this?” 

“An attempt to prevent war, Jazz… these are his terms. Do this and your life will go back to normal. You can take some leave, travel, forget it all happened… please...the alternative…”

“He's breeding an army, Quick! Sparklings forced into being warriors. Taught how to kill. The fragger doesn't want peace. He's stalling, this is a fraggin’ cover for his real plans!”

“Jazz, please see reason-- it's just one mech, and why in the pit he thinks you have his sparklings I don't know but the Praxian will do… don't make this harder than it has to be…”

“Harder? You're talking about sacrificing their lives to--”

“--to save the world!” Quickshot snapped back. “The Praxian… where is he? We’ll make sure he's treated fairly and we'll take care of you, Jazz… we won't see you on trial for botnapping. It's ridiculous.”

“You're fraggin’ telling me!” Meister growled chucking the datapad to the ground at Quickshot’s feet. 

“If you don't do this simple thing… I won't be able to help you… please Jazz…” Quickshot implored desperately. 

“You can't help anyone. I'll get to Prime myself. He needs to know.” 

“I can't let that happen.”

“Try and stop me,” Meister turned and grabbed Prowl's arm. “I'm sorry, mech, I should've listened to ya. When I say, you run and you don't look back.”

“I can't--”

“--not got a choice. Ready?”

“Jazz, no--”

“--Run!”

Prowl staggered as he was shoved but he did as he was told. He glanced over his shoulder to see Meister facing down what looked like to be an entire enforcer unit, while Quickshot stood back and let it happen. It went against everything he knew was right, but Prowl kept running, he wouldn't let Jazz down now. His spark pounded as another unit appeared in the entrance and he skidded to a halt, his enforcer training kicking into gear as he went on the defensive. He'd heard enough to know if they took him, he'd not live to see his sparklings again. 

He fought valiantly, putting a few of the enforcers on the floor, opening up a gap. He made a dash for the exit only for one mech to grab his back plating, ripping the fake armour from his frame, tearing his sensor panels. Prowl cried out and stumbled, hearing the other enforcers shout back that they'd found the Praxian. He couldn't stop. He sprinted to the door and escaped the warehouse, only for a battle drone to appear in the alley in front of him and shoot him in the chest with an electromagnetic pulse. 

Prowl lost control of his body and crumpled to the ground. He tried to struggle as the enforcers surrounded him and tore off the large armour plating roughly, leaving gouges in his own plating. He swore and struggled as the feeling slowly returned to his limbs and they fastened his arms behind his back in stasis cuffs. 

Quickshot appeared at the doorway, looking quite worse for wear with energon dripping from a gash in his faceplates and glared at Prowl. “All this for you,” his upper lip curled. “You've ruined his life, I hope you know that?” he looked around the street and up at the tall buildings. “It didn't have to be this way, Jazz! Turn yourself in and I promise I'll protect you. He's not worth throwing your life away! You have one cycle. You know where we'll be!” Quickshot gestured to the enforcers to haul Prowl to his feet. 

“You're making a mistake!” Prowl snarled. “Megatron hates Iacon. He hates Prime. He wants to destroy your city! Please listen! He has a gestalt! He's not going to stop!” 

Quickshot stared after Prowl as the Praxian was shoved into their transport. The mention of a gestalt sent very real fear stabbing through his spark.”

“You're making a mistake! He's going to destroy you!” 

Quickshot let his optics dim. Jazz had escaped, not that he'd expected anything less. He hadn't expected him to bring the Praxian. ‘Thought I'd trained you better than that, Jazz,’ he thought glumly to himself. Everything was a mess. He'd hoped to warn Jazz but the council had overruled his request for a sole mission to bring Jazz in. The battalion of enforcers was to make a point, prove who was in charge.

“You're making a mistake!” Prowl's voice rang through the transport before one of the enforcers viciously silenced him. 

Quickshot gritted his denta, he was trying to prevent a war. Sacrifices had to be made, to do the right thing for the many, he resolved. Difficult sacrifices. History would remember this moment. “Forgive me, Jazz.”


	22. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cycles - the equivalent of a Cybertronian day. 1 cycle approximately 12 Earth hours.   
> Vorn - approximately 83 Earth years  
> Klik - couple of minutes  
> Astrosecond - 0.5 seconds

Meister perched easily on the edge of the building overlooking the transport station. His dark green visor picked out any movement in the dark cycle as he slowly cleaned his dagger. It was the dagger he'd used to slice Quickshot’s face. The mark of a traitor. His grip tightened as he thought of the betrayal. Prowl had tried to warn him before they'd left, he'd told him the likelihood of the meeting being a setup, a trap. He hadn't listened, had believed in Quickshot and had been so sure the mech would have his back. Now he had no choice but to return to Iacon, get to Prime before the council gave Prowl over to Megatron. They wouldn't listen to what he had to say, but Prime? Jazz had heard positive things. Perhaps that was why the council were keeping him out of the loop as much as possible. Right now, Prime was his only hope at saving Prowl. Jazz knew that if he ended up in Megatron's hands, the mech would not survive. Prowl had said as much. The mech would deactivate himself and hopefully take Megatron with him. Jazz couldn't let that happen and Meister wouldn't let that happen.

The transport pulled up and glided to a stop and Meister watched as the large group of enforcers led their prisoner out of the station. There were too many of them to take on alone. Meister couldn't help the growl of his engine when Quickshot appeared. The mech looked around, looking for him. Meister's dark silver frame blended perfectly into the dark cycle. Quickshot wouldn't see him again until Jazz wanted him to and he would be the last thing the mech saw. Jazz did not tolerate betrayal. This wasn't just betrayal against him, the mech had betrayed Iacon as far as Jazz was concerned and was now added collateral damage in Jazz's plan.

Quickshot was the last to board the transport and Meister moved quickly down from the building. Despite his speed, he landed lightly on the roof of the rear of the transport and activated his magnetic clamps. He thought momentarily about the mechs and sparklings they were leaving behind. Hopefully, when Hound came looking for them they would receive the message he'd left. It was the least he could do. He hoped Ratchet would understand.

****

Ratchet scowled deeply when Hound handed him the datapad. “How long ago?”

Hound shook his helm. “The bar mech said about four cycles ago,” he paused and his posture wilted. “Iacon is only a full cycle away on direct transport. That means they--”

“--I know what it means!” Ratchet snapped. He sighed and shook his helm. “Sorry, Hound… have Trailbreaker check all outgoing signals from that area. Anything like public trials or Kaon I want to hear about it.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?”

Ratchet's optics dimmed. “We assume the worst. The sparklings are now our responsibility. We move at dawn.”

Hound nodded sadly. “Even if they look. If they escape Iacon...They'll not be able to find us again…” he pointed out as Ratchet headed for the exit of the med bay.

“Neither will anyone else,” the medic responded resolutely.

****

The sparklings looked up at the medic as he entered their hut. Lowering himself onto the edge of Bluestreak's berth, he sighed and fiddled with the datapad in his hands.   
“Just tell us,” Sunstreaker demanded bluntly.

Ratchet held out the datapad. They deserved to know the truth. He waited until they'd read and Bluestreak was the first to look up at him, his bright optics shimmering. “Are they...they?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I have every faith that Jazz will be able to get to Prime. He'll not let Prowl get taken to Kaon. Unless we hear otherwise they're alive, you understand me?”

The sparklings nodded glumly. “But we have to leave…” Sideswipe spoke up, his normally confident voice barely even a whisper.

“To protect you. It's what Prowl wanted. Everything he's done he's done for you, to give you a chance at a normal life.”

“We can stay with you?” Bluestreak asked timidly.

Ratchet smiled sadly. “Always. I'll not let anything happen to you. You're part of us now.”

“Will we ever see them…?” Sunstreaker couldn't finish.

“I don’t know…” Ratchet's spark broke. They were too young to be separated from their creator. Sliding down to sit beside them on the floor, he gently coaxed them into his arms and held them all tightly as one by one their courageous resolve crumbled and they wept for the sparkling hood and a creator so cruelly taken away from them. As they clung to him he silently swore to Primus he would die before letting any harm come to them. They would enjoy, as best they could, what was left of their sparkling hood.

****

**Iacon - 3 cycles after Helex**

“Has he said anything?”

The large mech shook his helm and frowned. “He insists he's not a criminal and has not changed his story since we started questioning him. He is an enforcer himself so I would not be surprised if he had the ability to lie without it being detected in his field but I can detect no ulterior motive from him.”

The other mech scowled. “This will not do. We need these negotiations to be successful if we're to avoid a civil war. Pile on the pressure, get him to crack. We also need to know where that rogue agent has gone and what he's planning.”

“Hasn't he been through enough? I don't think further Interrogation is the answer. These accusations… why would he lie about something like this? If it's true then we must--”

“--We must do what we have to for the good of the many. You are not paid to defend criminals, Ultra Magnus, your job is to ask questions and uphold the peace of this city. No, this planet.”

“I also adhere to fair justice and I am sworn to protect…”

“And if Megatron declares war? How will you protect the millions who will suffer then? This is one mech, you have your orders.”

“Sir…” Ultra Magnus stiffened and frowned at the Chief of Justice as he left. Turning back to the viewing window, his frowned deepened as the steady knowing gaze of the Praxian enforcer pierced through the one-way glass, straight into his uncertain spark.

****

Prowl looked up as the door opened and watched the large blue mech settle himself on the opposite side of the desk. He'd been kept in this tiny room since they'd arrived in Iacon. It had been a full cycle since he'd spoken to anyone, including this Ultra Magnus. It was a common enforcer interrogative tactic. Let the criminal stew in order to crumble his resolve. It wouldn't work with him however, he'd told nothing but the truth. He was tired and his fuel tank complained at the lack of energon.

“I'd like to start from the beginning,” Ultra Magnus declared after a few long kliks of silence. “How is it an enforcer such as yourself became wrapped up in such a scandal?”

Prowl looked down at the stasis cuffs fastening his wrists together, keeping him chained to the table. “I do not know to what scandal you are referring. In Praxus enforcers of the highest calibre are required to serve in all ways their city demands of them.”

“Including prostitution?”

Prowl met Ultra Magnus’ gaze. “We are not paid for our services,” he replied softly.

“Then why do you tolerate it?”

“It is not something we can choose. You would not understand.”

“Then make me understand,” Ultra Magnus, demanded tersely. “What you have told me beggars belief and the council have no reason to believe you nor defend you and would much rather use you in their negotiations to avoid a civil war that will affect millions of innocents.”

“Millions of innocents have already been affected!” Prowl snapped back. “Praxus is a prison. War is coming. It has already started. It is what he wants and all this negotiating is just Megatron's way of stalling and keeping Iacon lulled into a false sense of security until war is at your doorstep and you are defenceless to prevent it. I will simply be one of many victims, if I am returned to that tyrant, in a war Iacon refuses to believe exists, which the rest of the planet is already fighting and dying in.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm and scowled at his datapad. This was exactly what the Praxian had told his subordinate who had questioned him first. He decided to change tact. “These accusations of forced breeding and sparklings being forced into warriors, do you have evidence of this?”

“My spark bears the scars of forced kindlings too close together after previous kindlings. My eldest sparklings have been training to fight since they could walk and have already killed mechs in their defence. The youngest was scheduled for a procedure that would reformat his processor because he was deemed too emotionally unstable due to separation anxiety. He is barely a vorn old. It would have killed him.”

“And where are these sparklings to confirm your claims?”

Prowl's sensor panels wilted slightly with a grief he had yet to process. “I do not know. I know only that they are safe and shall remain so no matter what happens. I will not have them turned into child soldiers.”

“That's barbaric,” Ultra Magnus protested. “No city would condone such treatment of sparklings. Successful kindlings are already increasingly rare.”

“Because the planet is running out of resources,” Prowl explained. “Praxus was desperate and made a deal with Megatron. Resources for an army. His army bred between mechs like myself and his warriors. How much do you really know of Praxus? We are practically a myth to you Iaconians so you have nothing to prove the truth except my word and that of Jazz and the number of new sparks that increase exponentially.”

“And where’s Jazz? This mech who supposedly rescued you and dragged you across planet only to abandon you when faced with the truth of his corruption by you and betrayal?” Magnus demanded harshly. “Megatron told the council that you have delusions, that you are unwell, caused by a processor upgrade when you were a sparkling that all of this is a fabrication. Why did Jazz run if you are telling the truth? Why isn’t he here to defend your claims?”

“Perhaps because he realised how futile it would be trying to reason with mechs whose processors seem to only consist of lead,” Prowl retorted acerbically.

Ultra Magnus pursed his lip components. “Your sparklings are also Megatron's, correct?”

“Yes,” Prowl wilted in his seat wearily. His words were falling on deaf audios. “I was chosen to be sparked by him. Twice. The act nearly caused my deactivation.”

“So bearing that in mind. How do I know that this isn't all just some elaborate scheme to get back at an ex-lover? Your delusions forcing you to vilify someone who scorned you and has apparently spent the last vorn trying to find the sparklings you stole from him?”

Prowl offlined his optics and shook his helm. “Hunting us would be a more accurate description,” he sat back in his chair with a defeated sigh. Reason was failing. “Have a medic examine me, have one of your special ops agents probe my processor and memory files. Do what you must to verify my claims. I will submit to any test you require. And when you have discovered I am not lying to you, I respectfully request asylum,” Prowl leant forward, pinning Magnus with a hard glare. “Whether or not your council gives me to Megatron in a cowardly attempt to save a failing functionalist regime, war is coming.”

“You sound so sure,” Magnus pointed out. “It almost seems to be the ramblings of a doomsayer.”

“I am a master tactician with built in battle computer, that upgrade Megatron spoke about was ordered by him into all new sparks of my generation, most deactivated,” Prowl stated firmly. “I was designed and trained to fight his war, they planned to wipe my memories and personality subroutines when the time came,” he explained with barely contained frustration. “You are running out of time! Megatron has a gestalt, he will use it against you.”

“There hasn't been a gestalt since the last great War before we began recording our history,” Magnus countered, a quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

Prowl pressed on when Magnus’ optics flashed with concern at the mention of the gestalt. The mech was not entirely deaf to his words and that gave Prowl some hope to continue fighting for the truth. “That only means one thing. Please, stop this nonsense, you know I am telling the truth, I can feel it in your field. Talk to your Prime. Let me help your city. I can help your Prime fight a war you are wholly unprepared for. Please... Before it's too late.”

****

The medic eyed Magnus suspiciously. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Time is of the essence and I could not risk his escape. What are your findings?”

Pharma huffed and sat behind his desk. “Here is the report,” he handed Magnus a datapad. “He's lucky he doesn't have spark failure. The act of kindling is itself extremely stressful but multiple kindlings less than two vorns apart. Practically suicide.”

“So he was telling the truth about the sparklings.”

“What else did he say?” Pharma enquired with narrow optics.

“Why?”

“Because no mech in his right mind would have willingly chosen to go through this without fully healing first. There are also signs of damage from a medical separation inexpertly carried out and sensory damage to his sensor panels caused by stripping off plating from the protoform.”

“You're saying he was forced?”

Pharma shrugged. “ Either that or he really enjoys pain. The second kindling would have been excruciating due to the existing scars in his spark. There are also microtears in his interface array that haven't completed healed. That's a sign of interfacing without adequate lubrication. Not to mention there are issues with his creator subroutines. They're unresolved.”

“Which means what?” Magnus asked somberly.

“That he didn’t spend any time with the sparklings after separation. Given the strength of his creator subroutines, I'd say he was kept in a forced isolation period.”

“Primus,” Magnus uttered. The report was even more damning. “And his processor?”

Pharma whistled. “Yeah he's got a state of the art battle computer that is fully integrated into his processor and has recently been upgraded to prevent glitches with emotional processing,” Pharma grinned at Magnus. “A weapon like that would be formidable. No wonder the council is keeping him a secret.”

“Weapon?”

“Well yeah, his processor speed is akin to that of a supercomputer like Teletraan.”

“That's not possible…”

“It's improbable that a mech could survive computing that much input but he's had that mod since being a youngling. If super soldiers are what the council was aiming for then they succeeded, though I'm not sure what war they're planning to fight,” Pharma let out a short laugh at Magnus’ confused gaze. “The mech can calculate the speed, trajectory and location of around 800 moving objects in any given 5-astrosecond interval. If he wasn't made for war, what the frag was he made for?”

Magnus straightened and nodded at Pharma. “Your input has been enlightening. Is it alright if I speak with him?”

“Sure. He'll be a bit groggy from sedation and I've put him on and an IV to restore his fuel levels to help his self-repair deal with microfractures in his frame but he's going to be fine,” Pharma declared with another shrug. “Just don't be long, he needs to rest.”

Magnus gave the medic another nod and ducked into the main med bay before pausing and pinning Pharma with a hard gaze. “May I remind you that everything you've seen and spoken of here is under oath and is also classified at the highest level. You are to discuss it with nobody but me. Not even the council, am I clear?”

“As crystal,” Pharma stated with mild surprise. “Not even the council huh? If I may ask, what is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Magnus murmured as he headed over to Prowl's berth.

Half sat up, Prowl watched Magnus approach. He regarded the other mech silently, he'd said all he could and the medic had found what he had if he still didn't believe him there was nothing more he could do.

“It appears,” Magnus started after a long heavy moment of silence. “That I owe you an apology.”

Prowl's optics flickered and dimmed as relief washed through him.

“In my apparent short-sightedness and cynicism, I allowed subjectivity to interfere with the evidence.”

Prowl allowed himself a small smile. “You were doing your job. Quite well I might add. I would have appreciated somebody as thorough and as dedicated to the truth as you in my enforcer unit back in Praxus.”

Magnus bowed his helm slightly at the compliment. “I will ensure that your accusations are brought to the council's attention. If everything you say is true, then Megatron is not a mech we can negotiate with.”

Prowl looked down at his hand still cuffed to the rail of the berth. “They will not believe you,” he stated softly.

“I have faith the council will see reason, they want a peaceful resolution to this I'm sure.”

“At the expense of others,” Prowl pointed out. “Speaking as one enforcer to another, just make sure you make triple copies of your evidence.”

Magnus pressed his lip components into a thin line. “I do not think it necessary…” he held up his hand to stop Prowl's protest. “But I shall follow your recommendation in this instance. I will not permit an innocent mech to be handed over to a known tyrant for the sake of temporary peace and a reprieve of the inevitable.”

Prowl let out a soft sigh. His weariness and aching grief made his entire body hurt. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly.

“I will have a guard placed here, however, you are still classified as a fugitive and a criminal until I can have the charges against you dropped. It would help me if you knew the location of Agent Jazz.”

“I do not know where he is. Though I do hope it is far away from here. I doubt it was the homecoming he was expecting, nor the same place he left behind.”

Magnus had nothing to say to that and he had a lot of work to do. “Try to rest. I will return when I can.”

Prowl nodded with dim optics. All he wanted to do right now was recharge. Perhaps when he woke up all of it would turn out to have been a horrible nightmare and he would be able to hold his sparklings one more time.


	23. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz calls on a little help from a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear the last two months got away from me. It's been rough. Hopefully will update more regularly. :s

He waited until the large blue mech left before snaking out of the vent slowly, cautiously. The medic was currently preoccupied in his office, leaving the central med bay in semi-darkness to mimic the dark cycle. Jazz crouched down low and hesitated before moving. He'd already taken out the surveillance cameras temporarily but the guard periodically checked on Prowl and he was due any klik. Staying low, Jazz waited as the guard peered into the dim room and his blue opticked gaze scanned Prowl's recharging form. Still as a statue, Jazz watched the mech leave after a cursory check and waited a few seconds longer before creeping towards Prowl's berth. 

Prowl was deep in recharge and Jazz took a klik just to look at him. His face was slack and relaxed, unburdened by the weight of his existence. Jazz brushed his fingers over Prowl's faceplates, fingers tracing the lines, searching for the port at the base of his helm. Plugging in quickly, Jazz whispered into Prowl's audio. 

Prowl turned around from where he was watching his sparklings play. At the back of his processor, he knew that he was still in recharge but he didn't care for reality's alternative. "Jazz, I thought you had gone." 

Jazz canted his helm and gave Prowl a small smile, "Not going to happen, Prowl, don't you know me by now?" 

Prowl hummed and turned back to his sparklings. "Everything has fallen apart hasn't it?" 

"Party's not over until it's over, we're not done yet, Prowl.” 

Optics dimming, Prowl vented a soft sigh. "They're going to give me back to him. Use me as a bargaining chip." 

"I'm not going to let that happen," Jazz growled. "I'm working on something, I'm moving as fast as I can, I just need a little more time." 

"Time is something we don't have." 

"You need to trust me," Jazz tentatively reached out his hand. "Prowl..."

"Jazz, I trust you, but you're out of time," Prowl could feel another presence approaching the med bay and he grabbed and squeezed Jazz's hand, tugging the other mech flush. Without hesitating he pressed a kiss to Jazz’s mouth, ignoring his surprise and hissed against his lip components. "Go, now!" 

Prowl stirred with a low groan. He could still feel Jazz's hand in his own and his lips on his, but when he turned his helm, to his relief, Jazz was nowhere to be seen. His processor was fuzzy but he needed to focus. Despite it being the most recharge he'd gotten since he could remember, he still didn't feel rested. Onlining his optics he peered blearily up at the imposing image of Ultra Magnus. "What... is everything okay?"

Magnus vented a sigh and held up the stasis cuffs. "You need to come with me, Pharma has cleared you for release." 

"Where are we going?" 

"The council, they want to talk to you." 

****

The red mech smiled and waved as the last patron left. This was the work that was the most fulfilling for him. Entertaining through music, that was his scene. It didn't leave him much recharge time given his standard light cycle job but at least he'd worked up to a high enough level that his main job was flexible on the breems. 

“Good dark cycle, Blaster, see you in two cycles.”

Blaster gave a wave and grinned at the departing mech. “That you will, my mech.”

“Two cycles huh? Must be quiet in the comms game.”

Blaster froze at the voice and slowly turned, his optics bright. 

The silver mech leaning against the wall gave him a cheeky smirk and a wave. 

Glaring at the mech, Blaster quickly closed the distance between them, grabbed Jazz's arm and ushered him into a private office at the back, optics darting behind him as they walked. “Are you trying to ruin me?!” he hissed, shutting the door behind them. “You can't be seen here, you'll get me shut down, or worse arrested.”  
“And here I thought we were friends,” Jazz drawled perching on the end of a desk. 

Relenting slightly, Blaster frowned at Jazz. “I thought we were more than just friends, mech, until you upped and left without so much as a comm. And the next thing I hear you're a Primus damned fugitive!”

“I'm sorry I couldn't let you know, it was a mission, you know the drill.”

“We've talked about this, Jazz. A call isn't going to blow your fraggin’ cover. What the frag did you do anyway? Pretty sure the entire planet is looking for you, Quick’ has been having a spark attack every cycle. Senate members are trolling the offices, it's gotten real tense.”

“The less said about Quick’ the better,” Jazz bit out. 

“What's going on? Did you really take those sparklings and abet that Praxian?”

Jazz pulled a face. “Yeah?”

“What the frag?!” Blaster exclaimed with distress. 

“It's not what you think,” Jazz continued quickly.

“Oh you don't want to know what I think,” Blaster scowled at the silver mech. “I didn't think you'd shown up in this disguise for role play.”

Jazz smirked at the sardonic remark. “Wouldn't be the first time--”

“--Jazz.”

“Alright, I can explain everything and I promise I will but right now I'm out of time and that Praxian you mentioned? Well he's in a real danger of being handed over to Megatron and I promise you that's no better than executing the mech.”

“I thought he was Megatron's mate and the sparklings were his?” Blaster frowned in confusion. “What the frag does that have to do with me?”

Jazz gave a small shrug. “Nobody knows comms or how to hack into them like you do…”

“Oh pit no!” 

“Blaster, mech, I'm all out of allies and I'm all out of time. Innocent lives depend on the intel I've got and I don't trust any bot in the senate to do the right thing. I need to get to Prime and I need your help to do it.”

“You really are crazy you know that?” Blaster grumbled, rubbing his faceplates. “How do I know this isn't just some elaborate plot to assassinate the Prime?”

Jazz grinned. “You don't. You're going to have to trust me.”

Blaster huffed air through his vents. “Yeah and we all saw what happened the last time I did that.”

Jazz let out a short laugh. “Mech, you weren't complaining at the time, in fact I think you were practically beggi--”

“--alright, alright,” Blaster allowed himself a smirk. “If I do this, you let me have my overdue revenge on your fine aft.”

“Deal.”

Blaster’s optics reset in surprise. “Wow, didn't think it'd be that easy.”

“Desperate times, mech. So, you'll help me?”

“Choosing between helping you or the senate council, who have been up in my grill every five kliks since you went off-grid and they found out we were friends, by the way,” Blaster grinned at his friend and long-time lover. “Did you ever have a doubt?”


	24. Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prime commands Jazz to speak honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well so much for regular updates. I really appreciate all of you who stick with me. I will finish this for you.

Jazz had watched and listened to the mech’s comms, thanks to Blaster, for long enough to record his schedule right down to the klik. It had been three cycles since he'd seen Prowl in the medbay and Blaster had made him aware that negotiations were going in Megatron's favour. The only thing he could work out was either the Prime didn't want to know and didn't care either way or he didn't know because the senate council members were deliberately keeping him in the dark. Jazz was banking on the latter. If it was the former then his only other option was to break Prowl out of his cell and become fugitives in three city states. Not being on the run indefinitely was certainly preferable but Jazz wouldn't hesitate to make that call if the Prime turned out to be as apathetic as he appeared to be. 

The dark cycle crept over the city of Iacon and the Prime was escorted to his private chambers. There were always two guards stationed at the door once the Prime had retired. They wouldn't be a problem, Jazz had never been one for doors. Making his move, Jazz activated the magnets in his hands and in his feet and crept stealthily along the ceiling. Pausing when he was directly over the guards he smirked. If they got through this he was going to have to talk to security about tightening things up around the palace. Sure, Jazz was a good special ops agent but he was far from the best and if he could get in, it made him concerned as to who else had access to their Prime. Potentially when the mech was in recharge. At least the council hadn't deemed Prime to be too much of a threat yet, simply an inconvenient distraction to their rule.

He crawled along the ceiling at a painfully slow pace. He didn't want slight movement to draw the guards’ attention to their peripheral. Turning the corner of the corridor he let out a soft ex-vent he hadn't realised he was holding in. Aiming for the window at the end of the corridor, Jazz moved a little quicker. The security cameras were only on a timed loop temporarily, from the moment Prime had closed his door. He didn't have much time to get out of sight. 

Climbing out of the window, Jazz perched for a few kliks just to take in the view of the city. Iacon glittered in the dim light of Cybertron’s two artificial moons. Ever since he'd arrived in Cybertron’s capitol at the tender age of six vorns, Jazz had loved Iacon. It was his home, his life and it had given him the opportunities to do more with his life than Polihex ever had. While still adhering to functionalist policies, Iacon had more flexibility in defining that function. For example, Jazz's skill set had determined him to be a performer and those same skills had easily lent themselves and moulded to the role of special operations agent. Polihex would have sold him to the highest bidder. Iacon was the only true home he'd ever known. All of a sudden the weight of what he was fighting against threatened to overwhelm him and he momentarily lost his footing and slipped down the near vertical roof before grabbing hold of a comm antenna. With his legs swinging freely off the edge of the roof, Jazz vented a sigh. That was close. He couldn't afford to get careless now. 

Carefully climbing up, the silver mech shimmied across the narrow ledge to the Prime’s window. He readied a sonic pulse for the window but to his surprise found he didn't need to use it. The window was open. He was definitely going to have words to their security director. 

A thin veil of a curtain billowed in the light Iacon breeze, only felt when this high off the ground. Jazz timed it carefully and slipped into the Prime’s room as the curtain blew outwards. Crouching low, he waited to make sure he had not been detected. When he was sure he ventured forward into the room. It was Prime's living area and it was luxurious by even Iaconian standards. The seats were padded with a soft material Jazz had never seen and he let out a silent whistle as he brushed his fingers lightly over its surface. Good for keeping plating buffed and shiny not to mention comfortable. His audio picked up the sound of the wash rack and he smirked as he explored cautiously. Venturing into the berth room, Jazz's optics widened behind his visor. The berth was huge, nearly the size of his entire apartment and covered with those same luxurious materials. Daring a look at the closed door of the wash rack, Jazz risked a sit down on the berth and almost let out a moan at how comfortable it felt. He could happily curl up and recharge for vorns. He frowned at the realisation of just how exhausted he was and it took every ounce of willpower he had to stand up again. 

The desk on the other side of the berth room caught his optic and he wandered over. To his surprise he found books. Ancient Cybertronian books and datapads, epic tomes on politics, history of Primacy, Functionism and Society, Senate regulations, news articles from several neighbouring city states and a full biography on Megatron of Iacon as well as a book on the history of Praxus and Praxians, exotic creatures or mythological menace? “Well, at least you're not as uninformed as I thought,” Jazz muttered to himself. “This is unexpected.”

He was so engrossed in the books, he hadn't noticed the wash rack had been quiet for several kliks. 

“As is this.” 

Jazz whirled around, energon blade drawn at the sound of the low rumbling tenor. The Prime was standing halfway between him and the wash rack and Primus he was huge! Jazz knew he was large but he hadn't really considered how large and how had he gotten so close without Jazz noticing? 

“I am not going to hurt you.”

Jazz huffed a laugh but didn't relax just yet. “That's my line.”

The Prime’s optics brightened with amusement. “My apologies, please, do continue with your reassurance.” 

Jazz pursed his lip components at the obvious tease. This Prime was more than capable of handling him if his calm exterior was anything to go by and wasn't threatened. Taking a risk, Jazz put away his dagger. “Council ever tell you not to leave your windows open? Anyone could invite themselves in.”

“Evidently. Despite being 200 stories above ground, unwanted visitors should have been my first concern,” the Prime rumbled dryly, not in the least perturbed by Jazz's presence. “Won't you sit? I was about to have some energon,” the Prime gestured to a nearby seat. 

“You're not bothered by this?” Jazz asked incredulously. 

“When I first saw you I admit I was somewhat terrified but then I figured if you were here to assassinate me, you would have done it while I was distracted in the wash rack rather than standing at my desk reading my books,” the Prime's optics narrowed as the mech smiled.

Jazz noticed for the first time that the Prime’s customary battle mask was absent. He was struck by how expressive the mech’s face was. “What is a Prime doing with all these anyway?” Jazz asked curiously. “I thought the only info you were allowed was pre-approved by the senate and I'm pretty sure they don't even know these books exist.”

The Prime frowned a little as he handed Jazz a cube of energon. “That has been a point of contention between myself and the senators. It seems my predecessor was disinterested in matters of government and so they do not wish to bore me with state matters unbecoming of a Prime's station.”

“Their words?”

“Hm, in the beginning when the matrix first came to me, I thought they just felt I was too young and inexperienced. Now I know it is because they consider me incompetent and ignorant of such matters as they did all the Primes before me.”

Jazz hummed knowingly at that. “With all due respect, Prime, that's not why they're leaving you out of proceedings.”

The Prime regarded Jazz with interest. “Enlighten me...um..?”

“The name’s Jazz and the council are afraid you'll try and stop them.”

“Stop them. From what?”

“Makin’ deals with the unmaker. They're afraid of another Guardian Prime, or even a Zeta.” 

“Zeta was a tyrant who abolished the senate entirely when they did not agree with his methods of rule and Guardian abolished the sovereignty of the senate, reducing their powers over the state. He protected the innocent against tyranny and oppression. Two very different Primes,” Prime frowned and sipped his energon. “Does this have something to do with that hearing and Lord Megatron’s visitation?”

“They both went against the senate, successfully.” Jazz couldn't help a low growl of disgust from escaping at the mention of Megatron. “That self proclaimed Lord is a tyrant and a menace. The only thing that mech wants is war.”

“That is a serious accusation… coming from a fugitive.”

Jazz grinned. “So you've heard of me, that's cute. Have you made up your processor already or would you like to hear the other side of that story?” 

“I would have had to have been living off planet to have not heard of you. Megatron is quite angry you have yet to be apprehended. Though he is pleased the Praxian will be returned to him unscathed.”

Jazz's fist slammed against the table. “Returned over my deactivated spark,” he snarled, visor flashing with fury.

The Prime was unfazed. “Given how little the senate have informed me beyond my state meeting with Megatron, I would appreciate hearing from someone with a little more information, as long as you have evidence to back up your claim.”

Jazz relaxed a fraction. “I'll tell you everything and you can check my memory files personally. On one condition.”

“You're not really in a position to make demands, Jazz,” the Prime chided gently, before graciously acquiescing. “Though, I'll hear your condition.”

“If you believe me, you'll stop the negotiations and you'll help us, regardless of what the senate say.” 

“If I believe you. And if I don't?” 

Jazz met the Prime's gaze and said nothing. If he didn't Jazz didn't see many other options. The Prime could have him arrested and put in the stockades indefinitely or he could assassinate the mech, break out Prowl and disappear before the council had even realised what had happened. Both options were a death sentence in his processor. 

The Prime seemed to sense the solemnity of the situation and gave Jazz a small nod. “Sit, you have my audio, if I don't believe you, you have until I wake from recharge to find your friend.” 

Slowly, Jazz sat, regarding the Prime with intrigue. He was different from what he'd expected, more open, willing to learn and yet still, if the flickers of his tightly held field were any indication, extremely young to hold such an exalted position and vastly out of his depth of expertise. 

“Speak and be heard, Jazz,” Prime urged gently. “Time waits for no mech.”


	25. The Senate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz learns he has allies in unexpected places.

Ultra Magnus scowled at the Chief Justice and two council members that had accosted him in his office. What they were ordering was beyond reproach. “I will not--”

“--Need I remind you that you are employed by the city of Iacon. It is your function to uphold the letter of the law.”

“That law does not include turning over innocent mechs to their abuser,” Magnus argued firmly. 

“You have no proof, enforcer,” Ratbat, drawled, idly fiddling with his cloak, seemingly disinterested in the conversation. 

“With all due respect, Councillor, the medical evaluations conducted by this city's foremost medic and the memory files offered freely by Prowl and obtained using only specialists trained to recognise falsified memories, are more than enough evi--”

“--This has dragged on long enough!” the Chief of Justice snapped. 

The second councillor rested a hand on the mech’s shoulder and pinned Magnus with a scrutinising stare, that made his spark pulse cold, impressive given his one yellow optic. He spoke evenly, his deep voice deceptively soft and reassuring. “The time has come to fulfill your function, Magnus. Either uphold your duty or we shall find someone that will and a new function will be allocated to you, one more suitable to your moral misgivings and disobedience. The choice, is of course, yours. 

****  
Try as they might, the council senate could not have predicted the level of dissidence among the ranks of those who served them closely. They had controlled so much for so long that they considered themselves infallible, nigh untouchable. 

When the media outlets got word of a political prisoner, a Praxian no less being used as a pawn in negotiations with the feared Lord Megatron of Kaon, the city had erupted. Stories of sparklings, forced breeding in Praxus, the threat of war and a Gestalt controlled by Megatron himself, sent the public into a frenzy. They marched to the Palace of the Primes and the Grand senate chamber of Iacon and protested. Most wanted full disclosure and for their senate not to negotiate with a tyrant who only sought to turn his sparklings into warriors, an abuser of the worst kind. Many demanded the rights of the Praxian be protected and the vast majority of citizens were simply sick and tired of being systematically crushed by the functionalist ideals of a rigid, detached ruling senate.

When the senate had finally tracked down the source of the leak. The communications department had already been gutted as had the special operations department. News of the former head of special operations, Quickshot’s apparent suicide, riled up the media even more. The palace and Senate increased security and ordered a military curfew. They were rapidly losing control of a situation they had fought hard to keep quiet and in their blindness had not considered the strength of dissatisfaction built up over the vorns for whom they were supposedly speaking. It only demonstrated to them that most Cybertronians were ungrateful and deserved to be removed of the rights they refused to appreciate. 

****

Prowl stood slowly, his high risk stasis cuffs making movement difficult, as Ultra Magnus approached his cell. The last time he'd seen the mech, he had been forced into a meeting with Lord Megatron and the council members where every one of his accusations, events he knew to be true, were picked apart, questioned and disputed or refuted over and over.

Prowl had felt the doubt creeping into his processor since that cycle and had even ended up questioning himself afterwards. It hadn't helped that the council had permitted Megatron and his henchmech Soundwave to visit him while in his cell, which had resulted in another medbay visit, not just for himself but Soundwave too. Prowl had nothing left to lose. 

Prowl had learnt from his guards that somehow, and he highly suspected Jazz was responsible, news of what was happening had reached the general public and there had been protests over his treatment causing others to counter protest, arguing that one life wasn't worth the millions that it would cost if Megatron truly did intend to bring war to Iacon. 

As a result of the public outcry, predominantly in Prowl's favour - and he still had no idea how that had happened - the council had seen fit to keep him under a tight security detail. Megatron had not been allowed into his cell again but he'd been close enough for Soundwave to reach into his processor and assault him mentally. Prowl had no proof of course but the shudders that rippled through him still, spoke volumes to how unnerving and ultimately terrifying it was for him to lose his control to that tyrant. “Ultra Magnus?” he greeted the somber mech hesitantly. 

“I have orders to take you to him,” the larger mech stated simply. 

Prowl felt the icy fingers of dread grip his spark. This was a death sentence. Holding himself still as Magnus lowered the field and held out the secondary stasis cuffs, Prowl lamented everything that had been taken from him and felt a bubble of anger rise up. He would not go without a fight. He was a dead mech regardless. Once the cuffs tethered to the cell were deactivated, he rushed forward, dropped down and took out Magnus’ legs from beneath him. Expertly locking the mech up in his own stasis cuffs, he bolted for the exit only for the guards to block his route. Knowing there was no going back, he launched himself at the guards, taking one down hard before being shot in the back. Despite the searing pain enveloping him and the energon he could feel running down his back, he forced himself up to keep trying for the exit. Another shot rang out and hot agony lanced through him. Prowl crumpled to the floor face first. This was it, he thought to himself with only the grim satisfaction that Megatron wouldn't get the pleasure of doing it himself. Megatron would never touch him again. 

“No! Cease fire! Stand down!” Magnus boomed, opening his comm to Pharma as Prowl was felled and lay unmoving. He distinctly remembered the silver mech's threat about how he would pay with his spark if anything happened to Prowl. The mech's profile had been enough to convince Magnus he would make good on his threat - not that he’d needed the extra incentive to do the right thing - and rushed to Prowl's side to ensure he was still alive. Much to his relief, dim optics peered up at him and he stayed close to the Praxian, taking hold of his hand. “It's alright Prowl, everything is going to be okay.” 

****

“I thought I told you to keep him safe?” 

“How was I to know he would panic?” Magnus retorted to the snarl. 

“What the frag did you expect when you told him you were taking him to that fragger, him to be relieved?” 

“I didn't say Megatron.”

“You might as well have done! Frag me, you're an enforcer, surely you could have thought of a subtle way to get a message to him?!”

“And risk alerting the guards and then the council to your plans? I don't take those sorts of risks with other mechs’ lives, unlike some.” 

“You better watch yo--”

“Enough!” Prime's firm command cut through the air, silencing the other two mechs. “We are not enemies,” he continued evenly. “Try to remember that.” He turned his helm when Prowl groaned. “And we have more pressing matters.”

Jazz was by Prowl's side in an instant and gently took hold of Prowl's hand with one hand, his other lightly brushing his cheek. “Hey there, gave us a scare for a klik,” he grinned when Prowl's optics fixed on him. 

“Where am I?” he murmured. He glanced around and tensed when he saw Ultra Magnus. 

“You're safe, it's alright, I won't let them take you, Prowl, Magnus is helping us,” Jazz reassured quickly when Prowl's grip on his hand tightened. “You're in Prime's chamber.” 

“I'm what?!” 

Jazz smirked at the startled reaction when Prime sat on the edge of the berth. 

“Prowl, I regret that we had to meet under these unfortunate circumstances,” Prime spoke up gently. “We don't have a lot of time. You should know I have seen the evidence against you and the evidence you have brought to us against Megatron and I personally wanted to thank you for risking everything to bring it to us. You have only allies here.” 

Prowl could only stare at the Prime for a few kliks while he processed that it was in fact the Prime speaking. He looked up at Ultra Magnus and a red mech who gave him a lazy smirk and a wave. “You will not hand me over to Megatron?” 

Prime shook his helm. “You are not property, nor are your sparklings. Who, will also be granted full citizen rights of Iacon just as you will.” 

“Prime,” the red mech stepped forward. “The senate have been made aware, there is… unrest in the senate hall.” 

“Unrest?” Prime quirked an optic ridge at Blaster. 

“To put it mildly, Sir,” the red mech grimaced slightly. “Megatron is also there. He is,” Blaster touched his audio, and a visor flipped down, connecting him to the Palace surveillance. “Quite furious.” 

“Thank you, Blaster.” Prime stood. “Jazz, Prowl remain here, Magnus wi--”

“--No!” 

All optics fell on Prowl as the black and white was using Jazz to try and sit up. 

“I want to be there. You are doing this because of me, I should be there,” he insisted, wincing as he managed to stand by leaning heavily on Jazz. 

Pharma huffed from the corner of the room. “You have a weld patch on your back, it will stop your sensor panels moving too much. You got shot in the struts, a little to the left it would have been your spark, you shouldn't be moving at all.” 

Prime saw the earnest determination in Prowl's optics as the mech held his gaze. “Alright it is your fight, I will not deny you this. Pharma, he shall be brought to your medbay as soon as this is over.” 

The medic let out another disgruntled huff but didn't argue. 

“Magnus, are your enforcers ready?” the Prime continued. 

“All that are loyal to you are restraining those who would stop us, Prime, we should not be challenged.” 

Jazz nodded when the Prime looked in his direction. “Special ops, turns out don't like a boss who turns on one of them, Quickshot’s out of the picture and his loyal agents have been put under house arrest, my agents are in position.” 

Prime nodded. “Blaster initiate communication blackout until I give the signal. Are the media streams prepared?” 

Blaster grinned. “All hacked and awaiting your command, Prime.” 

The Prime looked over the small band of mechs in his chambers. Since Jazz had enlightened him as to the true state of his planet and the Senate's methods, he had been moved to action. A Prime was a symbol, yes and he intended to fulfill that role by stepping up as the true leader of Cybertron. Too long had the senate been allowed to rule unchecked, abusing their powers. He would answer to the people he served. The thought of disbanding the senate did fill him with some apprehension. However, allowing his city to be led into a war blindly by leaders only serving their own interests was not something he could sit idly by and watch happen. “Megatron came to Iacon with war on his processor. He has been planning for it for vorns while our leaders have sat by and done nothing, wilfully ignoring the threat on their doorstep. They believe that sacrificing one innocent mech to save their sparks and the status quo is just and will be enough to stay Megatron's hand. This is foolish and I will not allow it. Megatron came to conquer, he did not come expecting a fight,” Prime clenched his fist and his optics met Prowl's hard, resolute gaze. “Let's give him one.”

****

Prowl stood tall when he entered the council hall. The entire Senate was there. They had been expecting to witness the handover of Prowl to Megatron, to see the Praxian walk in under his own volition, without a guard nor stasis cuffs, riled many of the council members. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ratbat demanded as he rose from his seat. 

Megatron also stood and met prowl's defiant glare. He recognised a coup when he saw one. “Think about what you're doing, Praxian,” he bellowed. “The energon of millions will be on your hands if you don't surrender to me.” 

Jazz tried to move forward when Prowl faltered at the accusation. Prime placed a hand on his shoulder.   
“Wait,” the larger mech commanded softly.

Prowl straightened. “Their energon will only ever be on your hands, Megatron. You did not come here to negotiate. Your pretense was to reclaim something you are obsessed about. However, nobody comes to a city with a gestalt if they do not intend to use it.” Prowl smirked ever so subtly when Megatron spluttered in growing fury. “You will never get those sparklings. They will not become war machines for you. The city of Iacon will only negotiate on the dismantling of your army, not in the trade of innocent mecha to tyrants.”

“You do not speak for this Senate!” Ratbat growled out. 

“Where is security?” the chief of justice demanded.

“Right here,” Ultra Magnus walked into the chamber with Optimus and Jazz. They stopped beside Prowl and helped him continue to stand despite the agony lancing through his backstruts. Optimus marched on and came to a stop in the centre of the chamber. 

“Council members. Prowl does indeed speak for Iacon because he speaks for me and the last I checked, it was a Prime not the senate who speaks for the people.” 

“This is outrageous!” 

“What is outrageous,” Optimus boomed over the cacophony of protesting council members. “Is that you have kept this city, Cybertron and myself in the dark for far too long and I say; no more.” 

Optimus turned to nod at Blaster who gave a thumbs up as the media screens suddenly changed to the inside of the senate. “Too long have the citizens been forced to adhere to your hypocritical ideals while you have held yourselves exempt from your own rules. Too long have you ignored the crimes and threats from tyrants threatening to destroy everything we hold dear to our sparks. Too long have you regarded the worth of a mech’s spark only in terms of their frame’s function. Here is your evidence,” the screens flickered through Jazz’s memory files and Prowl’s of everything that had happened since he had been sent to Praxus. Blaster provided classified vid files of special operations meetings where innocent mechs who defied their function were reprogrammed or ‘disappeared’. Megatron's crimes were shown on all comm frequencies. No more.

Megatron was beyond furious and turned to Soundwave beside him. “Destroy it.”

“My Lord?” 

“Destroy them all!” Megatron commanded and whirled around, his attached cannon glowing before he blasted it into the centre of the council chambers. “Devastate!” He bellowed over the explosion of chaos and panic. 

The roof of the council chambers was suddenly ripped off and a large green and black behemoth peered into the gaping wound. 

“Gestalt!” Prowl cried out. Optimus helped him to his feet as they scrambled to escape. 

Jazz dove straight into the fray and scaled the wall to attack the giant. 

Megatron smirked as Soundwave found an exit. “Prime!” He roared catching Optimus’ optics. “Meet Devastator. I'll see you in the pit!” He glared at Prowl beside the Prime, leaning on him heavily. “I will find them!” He vowed before both parties had to be dragged to safety, away from the raging gestalt.


	26. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it everyone, the final chapter. Have a very merry Christmas thank you for reading <3

In the cycles that followed, chaos reigned. Prime’s confrontation of the Senate was broadcast across the planet to every comm frequency accessible to Iacon’s media.

Prowl testified against Praxus and Prime sent in the Elite Guard to arrest the upper echelons of its government.  

Megatron’s crimes and intentions were made public and the citizens called for justice. Forced to flee Iacon when Prime dissolved the Senate, he vowed publicly to return and to destroy the so called sovereignty of Iacon and its dictator,Prime, returning control of the planet to the people. 

There were many, disillusioned by the Senate, who believed his rhetoric and followed him back to Kaon. 

For almost a vorn, no official declaration of war was made. Although, Optimus and Iacon prepared regardless, strengthening  the Elite Guard forces and training mechs to fight with the promise of a berth and energon. 

Prowl was offered the duty of a tactician within the civilian section of the Elite Guard. He accepted readily, eager to be useful and to distract from the agony of not knowing where his sparklings were or if they were safe. He was comforted by the knowledge that Jazz had his best operatives out searching for Ratchet and his group but neither had much hope of finding them. 

Jazz, for his dedication to justice and exemplary actions was promoted to head of operations by Prime, despite his protests. In the wake of the chaos he began filtering out relevant Intel and spying on those who held loyalties to Megatron. They needed to know his next move, they needed to be ready.

Megatron announced his intentions on the eve of the first vorn after the dissolution of the Senate, with a simple, devastating display of his army’s power and resolve. 

The city of Praxus was wiped off the face of Cybertron in less than five cycles. It was a message to all that nobody was safe, not even those who had served. 

It was only the first of many city states to fall as Megatron systematically began wiping out those who would be allies to Iacon or neutral. Iacon became a safe haven, its ancient defences not used since the Quintesson war, now activated, saving them from the brunt of a number of gestalt attacks. Refugees and survivors flocked to its gates in droves. Counter attacks were planned and coordinated by Prime with the help of one who had been built to destroy Iacon but now had only revenge in his spark. 

Jazz had watched with dismay as Prowl had withdrawn into his battle computer. At first it had been a refuge for him, an escape from the grief of losing his sparklings. As he had passed all the aptitude tests available with excessively high scores he had received promotion after promotion, until he was running Prime’s tactical division. 

Jazz knew the sparklings were alive somewhere, yet it was not knowing that ate away at Prowl’s spark. After almost two vorns of fighting a war they'd tried to prevent, Prowl, to anyone on the outside, seemed cold and detached, focused only on gaining the best tactical advantage.

Behind closed doors where only Jazz was allowed close, Prowl mourned and broke down for all that he had lost and everything he held himself responsible for, including the genocide of Praxus. Jazz held him, comforted him, helped him escape from reality, even for just a moment and tried to reassure him that he wasn't to blame. However, when the dark cycle ended, Jazz could only continue to watch, argue and support, following orders of his Prime as Prowl came up with the tactical plans that ruthlessly laid waste to Decepticon forces at every opportunity. 

****

“Sir! Sir!” the mech scrambled through the corridor, almost careening into others as he turned a corner too fast. It did not slow him down. He burst into the ops headquarters and stopped dead as the optics of the entire command team stared at him.

“Sharpshot? What is It?” Jazz looked at the mech.

“A message, Sir… from the gate.”

“They go to security, you know that,” Jazz replied easily, turning back to the tactical table. 

“But Sir. They gave names, the ones you issued orders about. I really think you should take this.”

Jazz huffed and marched over. “As you can see, I am busy, take it to my office,” he hissed without looking at the datapad. 

“It's Ratchet, Sir,” the mech stated softly, unmoving, offering the datapad. “You gave explicit orders even at the risk of deactivation to ensure that any mention of his name or the others be brought only to You, Sir.” 

Jazz stilled and accepted the datapad. “Ratchet?” he thumbed through the datapad. “He's here, at the gates, not alone?” 

The mech nodded quickly. 

“You did good. Have them brought here to the palace immediately.”

“The palace, Sir? But the security che--?”

“Did I stutter?” 

The mech stiffened and saluted. “No Sir, the palace Sir, on the double.” 

With that the mech was gone. Jazz subspaced the datapad and turned back to the waiting mechs. “Sorry about That, urgent Intel. Couldn't be ignored, time sensitive.” 

Prime hummed his acknowledgement and returned his attention to the tactical screens. 

Jazz didn't have to look to know Prowl’s shrewd optics lingered on him a little longer, he couldn't tell him though, not yet. Not until he knew for sure.

**** 

After the meeting, Jazz slipped away and almost managed to escape before Prowl collared him at the last klik. 

“You're hiding something,” Prowl stated simply, leaving no room for argument. 

Jazz chuckled and gave Prowl a knowing look. “While that may be accurate, you know that I only withhold things when it is necessary.”

“Yes, and as we've… discussed before, tactical must have all the pertinent information in order to devise appropriate plans and strategies.”

Jazz's mouth pressed into a humourless smile, those discussions had been less discussion and more fully blown arguments. The fact that Prowl’s trust had been eroded somewhat by the betrayal of certain operatives and tacticians and even their chief medical officer, had not been lost on Jazz but there was nothing he could do as long as Prowl refused to shut down his battle computer. 

He took hold of Prowl’s shoulder and squeezed it. “And when it becomes pertinent, you'll be the first to know,” Jazz looked at Prowl intently. “I promise.”

Prowl pursed his lips uncertainly and frowned, instinctively he grabbed Jazz’s wrist as the mech turned to leave.

Jazz sighed softly and laid his hand over Prowl’s. “Prowl, mech, you have to trust me. I need to go, I will comm you as soon as I know the details.” 

Sensing he had no choice, Jazz was extremely stubborn when it came to revealing his sources of Intel and his operatives to him, he relented. “I await your comm.” 

****

Jazz sprinted to the commons room and skidded to a halt outside the door. Calming his intake, he steadied himself before stepping inside. 

Gazing out of the window his hands clasped behind him, the white and red mech turned at the sound of the door opening. “And just where the frag have you been? Do you know how worried I've been? I put you up and you repay me by disappearing?” he growled out closing the distance between them until he was towering over Jazz. 

Jazz opened and closed his mouth a few times, his visor bright. “Ratch... you, you got my message…” he managed to utter.

Ratchet’s stern glare broke into a wide smile and he grasped Jazz's shoulders. “Eventually, that was mighty clever and risky of you to send that coded message. That town is rife with Megatron’s minions.” 

“I knew if anyone could figure it out it would be your band of misfits,” Jazz grinned. 

Ratchet tugged Jazz into a tight embrace. “It's slaggin’ good to see you, mech.” 

Breaking the warm embrace, Jazz gave Ratchet an earnest look. “The sparklings?” 

“Mechlings now and they're here, in a safe place, I'll send a message to ‘Hide,” he smiled faintly and then canted his helm. “Prowl?” 

Jazz’s smile faded. “He's here. He's alive. If you can call it that.”

Ratchet frowned. “He was injured?” 

Shaking his helm sadly, Jazz sighed. “Not as such no. When we couldn't find you, he lost a bit of himself. He never gave up hope but the chances of finding you again with the outbreak of war… well he sort of retreated into his battle computer to hide from the grief.”

Ratchet nodded in understanding. “I thought that might happen,” he frowned deeply. “How long has he had it switched on?” 

“Almost forty meta-cycles. I used to get him to turn it off during the dark cycles but with Megatron pushing harder recently, things have been strained,” Jazz explained dismally. “I'm hoping that now you're here… with the sparklings he'll let himself live a little again.” 

“Well before that happens, I have an important request. The sparklings are ready for their upgrades and they've designed what they wanted but supplies have been short, I was hoping you could help?” Ratchet asked hopefully. “I wouldn't ask but we were ambushed in a skirmish and we lost everything. I have no credits.” 

Jazz hummed and nodded. “Well I have the credits, but honestly we're more in need of a good medic as our last defected, so if you're willing, I'm sure Prime would use our resources to build them frames. We could find places for all your team…” Jazz hesitated as he saw the reluctance on Ratchet’s faceplates. “War is here, Ratch, there's no running from it.”

“It's not that, we'd be glad to help it's just,” he paused and frowned. “They were raised to fight and it's innate in them, they're going to want to fight, especially the twins.”

Jazz gave him a wry smile. “M’afraid, that'll be something they'll need to hash out with Prowl, especially now that he's Prime’s second.” 

Ratchet folded his arms. “That's going to be an interesting conversation,” he declared dryly. 

****

Prowl knew Jazz was up to something but the mech was being more evasive than usual. It was driving him to distraction. The last time Jazz had kept things to himself, it had been serious injury while out in the field that had caused chronic problems for him and by the time Prowl had found out, Jazz had needed medical assistance. 

Logically, Prowl knew that withdrawing into his battle computer had driven Jazz away but it still hurt that he no longer trusted him, no matter how much of that was his own fault. This time, however, Jazz had promised. Prowl wanted to take him at his word but he had the distinct feeling he was being avoided. 

He opened his comm. intending to order Jazz to give his Intel report, yet, the words would not come. Frustrated he closed the comm. and immediately his own comm. beeped. //Jazz?//

//Yeah mech, I just tried to call you but the line was busy. Am I disturbing you?//

//Not at all, I was finalising the tactical and ops reports. What can I do for you?// 

//Well It's more about what I can do for you...//

//What are you talking about?//

//That promise I made you?//

Prowl sighed at Jazz’s need for mystery. //Yes?// he prompted.

//Come to the palace guest room. I'll tell you everything.//

//Jazz, could you please just tell me what you know? I do not have time for mysteries and intrigue.// 

Jazz’s voice became soft, almost melancholy on the other end. //You have time for this.// 

Prowl opened his mouth to reply when the comm. line went dead. He frowned, exasperated. Why couldn't anything with Jazz be simple? Putting his datapad down with more force than necessary, he marched out of his office and headed for the old guest rooms of the palace. Now they were extra berths for refugees and injured soldiers. 

He located Jazz in the largest room furthest away in the east wing of the palace and slapped his palm against the door release, his frustration having grown to agitation on his way over.

Stepping into the room, he was thrown for a loop. Jazz was there in the middle of the room but he was surrounded by mechs whom looked familiar but he could not immediately place. He stared, his processor trying to make sense of what he was seeing. 

“It's good to see you again, Prowl.”

Ratchet’s gravelly voice broke Prowl’s startlement and he opened his mouth to say a greeting in return but all he heard himself saying was, “You're alive…?” 

A few soft chuckles sounded through the room and Jazz stepped up to take Prowl’s hand. “They're alive, mech.”

“They’re alive…?” Prowl repeated looking at Jazz as his spark spun faster at the implications. “They… Jazz please… are they…?” 

Jazz nodded, his visor glowing as he led Prowl through the small group. They parted for him, revealing three young mechlings who stood side by side, holding hands tightly, their feet nervously shifting as they gazed up almost desperately at Prowl. 

“They… you're here…? Jazz they're really here..?” Prowl tripped with uncertainty over his words, not trusting his own processor. 

The three mechlings stepped forward and tentative hands reached out to touch Prowl’s leg plating. 

It was Bluestreak who broke the tense silence. “Creator, we found you,” he wrapped his arms around Prowl’s leg and his doorwings fluttered as he gazed up longingly. “I always knew we would.” 

At his words and embrace, Prowl came undone. A sob escaped his vocaliser as he shut down his battle computer and dropped to his knees to hug Bluestreak tightly in trembling arms. With barely a klik’s hesitation he tugged the larger twins into his arms as well and held them close as they sobbed together. 

When he finally released them after what felt like an age, he laughed through elated tears and held each of their faces in turn to gaze at them.  “You've all gotten so big!” He exclaimed shakily. “I knew you were out there. We never stopped looking,” he reached up and grabbed Jazz’s hand. “We never stopped hoping.” 

The sparklings alternated between laughing and crying and Prowl repeatedly hugged them and told them how much he loved and had missed them. How he had written to them every cycle and saved all the letter files so they could read them. 

The mechs around them were moved, some to tears. It had been a long and harrowing journey to Iacon and some of their party had not made it unscathed. Jazz served everyone energon and they all shared stories as they once had done back when Jazz and Prowl had been found and rescued by their camp. 

Towards the end of the cycle, even Prime showed up and greeted each of them warmly, thanking them for their efforts in keeping some of the last sparklings on Cybertron safe. He found Prowl sitting on a large sofa,his weary sparklings wrapped around him as they recharged peacefully. He smiled up at Optimus as he approached. The Prime couldn't help but note that that was the first time he could ever recall seeing Prowl smile. 

“I'll see to it that you're moved to bigger quarters,” Optimus rumbled as quietly as he could. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I also want you to take some leave. Spend some time with them you've taught Smokescreen well, he'll be able to handle tactical while you're gone.”

“But, Sir?” Prowl started to protest. 

Optimus held up his hand. “I insist. Please, you all need to be together. I promise the army will survive a few cycles.” 

Prowl relented and nodded with some relief. His sparklings stirred and stared bright optic’d at the mech crouched before them. 

“Creator?” Sunstreaker asked warily, tightening his grip on Prowl’s plating.

“It's alright, Sunstreaker,” Prowl reassured as they all woke up. “This is Optimus Prime, he saved my life and is the one providing you with sorely needed upgrades. 

Bluestreak held out his hand as Jazz had taught him. “I'm Bluestreak. It's nice to meet you, Optisum,” he spoke quickly, mispronouncing Optimus’ name. “Can we stay? You won't take our creator from us. We're very good and my brothers and I can fight and we can help, we won't be trouble I promise.” 

“Blue!” Sideswipe hissed. “He's the boss you can't talk like that.”

Optimus simply chuckled and rested his hand over Bluestreak’s in a standard Iaconian greeting before offering it to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. “It is quite alright. Nobody will ever take you from your creator again, that I can promise you, you're safe here.” 

“Really?” Sideswipe spoke up, daring to hope as he glanced at his brother. 

“Truly,” Optimus answered warmly. “We've all heard so much about you, and have waited a long time to meet you, but first you must rest. Next cycle can wait. Welcome home.” 

The sparklings beamed when Optimus took his leave as they kept chatting animatedly at Prowl, too quickly for Prowl to actually answer their questions. 

Prowl was content just to listen and respond when they let him. Gazing across the room at the mixture of old and new friends, his optics met Jazz’s visor. The mech was gazing at them from his spot leaning casually against the wall.

  
All of this he owed to Jazz. He mouthed the words, ‘thank you’ and Jazz simply smiled and inclined his helm, laughing when the sparklings shouted at him to come sit with them. He resisted at first until he saw Prowl hold out his hand, silently beckoning him, his piercing gaze unwavering and earnest. He never could refuse the mech since the moment they had met. Jazz knew, as he made his way across the room and took Prowl’s hand, letting himself be tugged down onto the sofa with the little family, that he would never again let them go.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tfanonkink meme request: 
> 
> Jazz is sent by his superiors to Praxus to find out how the city government/upper echelon are having so many sparklings. Boy is he surprised when an enforcer shows up at his door not to arrest him, but get kindled with his sparkling whether the enforcer wants to or not..
> 
> Obviously Prowl has been used and abused in the past (as have all enforcers) and he has had at least one sparkling taken from him. He is leery of trusting anyone (that tac-net is telling him its a trap) and Jazz is trying to get hard evidence to take back.
> 
> Bonus: I would love for Prowl to be the twins creator and Jazz helps him find and rescue them.
> 
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=15337365


End file.
